Prophecy Lost
by Chasing Liquor
Summary: AU - set between Episodes 1 & 2 - Obi-Wan, Anakin, and two other Jedi are sent to Naboo in the wake of attempts on Padme's life, but much more is at stake and the future of the Jedi is left in question... Obidala.
1. The Council Convenes

A/N: As it's been a few years since the first six or seven chapters were written, and considering my writing and style are much improved since then, I'm going to go through and clean the old stuff up a bit. Now, this isn't going to be a rewrite or an update of the old chapters to my present style. It's just a minor face-lift. It wasn't horrible or anything before, but I just figured I'd give you a little fix. Chapter One has been cleaned up and the next few will follow soon. Hope you enjoy the tale.

* * *

Obi-Wan writhed in agony in his bed, murmuring the past somewhere just beneath his breath. It was only in these moments that weakness could overtake him, only in his slumber that the recollection of things gone wrong would resurface. 

"Wait," he whispered hoarsely. "No! No, please, Master! Please. I cannot train him."

His body burned beneath the thin sheet, thrown half-off of him now in his restlessness. This was so heart-breakingly typical of the Jedi's nights.

The dull whine of his comm-link woke him with a start from where it sat on a small circular table to the left of the bed. It didn't quite register at first, the sound, so he paid it no mind, sitting up with a heavy breath as his senses slowly rediscovered reality.

The images slowly faded from Obi-Wan's mind as he reached out to the Force. He rubbed his tired eyes, letting a few moments pass before reaching over and snatching the comm-link.

"Yes?"

The smooth voice was familiar.

"Master Kenobi."

Obi-Wan grew more awake at the recognition.

"Master Windu."

"Obi-Wan, I'm sorry to have woken you in the middle of the night, but it is a matter of the utmost importance."

There was an obvious edge to the voice. Obi-Wan swung his feet over the side of the bed and groggily stood.

"Yes, of course, Master. Think nothing of it."

Mace paused a moment before continuing.

"The Council is being convened in ten minutes. We require the presence of yourself and your Padawan."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan replied thoughtlessly, grimacing at both the pounding in his head and the prospect of what awaited. "We will be there."

The link went dead and Obi-Wan set the device back down on the table next to his bed. He stepped away, but then turned back a moment. His lightsaber, which he had grown accustomed to sleeping with, was sticking out from underneath his pillow. Holding his hand out, he casually called it to him, grasping it firmly as it sailed through the air.

Something was not quite right. That much was obvious from Mace's cryptic tone, but there was something more. Obi-Wan sensed something out of balance, something close to him. He resolved not to let the thought stray far from his mind. With a weary sigh, he stepped into the washroom to make himself presentable to the Council.

* * *

"I'm uncertain, Anakin," Obi-Wan said numbly as he tightened his cloak around him. "Master Windu offered me no information regarding the nature of this assembly." 

Anakin glanced at him with mild concern.

"Master, are you well?"

Obi-Wan betrayed only tranquility, his reply dispassionate.

"I am fine, my young padawan."

The apprentice did not seem convinced, but he let it go. With each passing day, the eighteen year-old trainee found himself better able to predict how his Master might react to him. It was best to leave this be for now.

The temple appeared deserted, as all were still retired to their quarters and presumably asleep. There was always something very eerie to Obi-Wan about navigating the institution at night, a fact he'd often scolded himself for. If he could not feel completely safe in the temple, then there was no place where he could.

Predictably, the Council was assembled and waiting for them as they arrived. Mace, whose mere tone had told a story of sorts earlier, now wove another narrative with his expression. His lips were tight, something one would none too often associate with the wise Knight. Yoda, too, appeared troubled.

"Master Kenobi," Mace greeted sullenly. "Thank you for coming."

"The nature of your message was enough to pique both my interest and my concern, Master."

Mace turned to Yoda, searching the aged one's face for something neither Obi-Wan, nor Anakin could quite pinpoint. The short, green creature looked back at Mace, he too searching for something. Both were interrupted, however, by a voice from the far side of the room. It was not often that the shaggy Oppo Rancisis chose to speak, but when he did, he garnered the attention of all who were present.

"Obi-Wan, there is unbalance in the Force," he said, earning easily the attention of his fellow Council members and their two guests. "Surely you have sensed it."

Obi-Wan was silent for a few seconds, bringing a hand up to scratch the thin venire of hair that covered his face. He chose his words carefully.

"I have sensed that all is not right, Master, yes. Such, though, is the way of the universe."

He sensed Anakin's frustration next to him. The padawan was not pleased that his Master had chosen not to confide in him.

"The situation is more grave than the natural course of tragedy," Mace interjected.

Obi-Wan sobered.

"Yes, Master. I sensed as much as well."

Eeth Kooth, an older man with a crown of horns, spoke for the first time.

"The Senate will soon be voting on indentured servantry, an issue both delicate and controversial."

"Yes, I'm vaguely familiar with the topic," Obi-Wan replied, glancing at Anakin.

"It is is an effort to circumvent the Republic Code of Human Rights, a shortcut to slavery," Mace elaborated. "It is perhaps the greatest threat to freedom of our time."

At these words, Anakin subtly flinched, something that did not go unnoticed by his Master. The younger man closed his eyes for a moment, attempting to purge a collage of glowering images from his mind. Though there was likely not a soul in the room that did not notice this, no one outwardly betrayed the observation, thus allowing Anakin to believe his reaction had gone unseen.

"You are also more intimately aware, perhaps, of Senator Amidala's stance on the issue," Mace said.

Anakin's eyes brightened ever so slightly at the mention of the former Queen of Naboo. Obi-Wan, too, seemed quietly happy at the reference to their old friend, though his reaction was much more contained.

"Yes, we both know of her politics," Obi-Wan responded carefully. "And they have a tendency to leave her with as many enemies as friends."

Yoda spoke for the first time.

"Right you are, Master Obi-Wan. Put her in danger her candor does."

"Is she in trouble?" Anakin asked, emotion evident, as it often was. "What's happened?"

Obi-Wan glared at his apprentice with disapproval and the boy bowed his head.

"Sorry, Master."

Mace and Yoda, as had seemingly become their trademark, exchanged a quick glance before turning their attention back to the two men before them. Obi-Wan, for his part, remained quiescent. His padawan learner was another story entirely, however. Any emotion running through him was, as usual, being worn on his sleeve. In his eyes, the council could see fear, frustration, anger, sadness. None were particularly put at ease by this whirlwind of feeling.

"There have been three attempts on her life in the past week. Local security thwarted the first two with ease, but the third one presented much more of a problem," Mace continued.

Obi-Wan's query was predictable.

"How so?"

"The assailant in the third case let her go. He could have taken her life."

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows at this.

"I take it then that the inference you are making is that she is bait... but for what, Master?"

"Every member of her security staff that was on duty during the third attempt was killed," Kooth interjected once more. "Their fatal wounds were consistent with those inflicted by a lightsaber."

Obi-Wan and Anakin stiffened.

"The hunter becomes the hunted," the elder man said quietly.

Mace nodded.

"Yes, this is our fear as well. Whoever is behind this may well be luring us to her aid."

Anakin, for the second time, spoke before he thought.

"But we can't take that chance. We have to protect her."

The Councilmen, rather than admonish the boy for his outburst, could not argue his logic. Yoda broke a short silence.

"Agree with you we do, young Padawan."

"Do we know anything of the attacker, Masters?" Obi-Wan redirected, feeling they were getting off-course.

"I'm afraid we know nothing at all," Mace said, a peculiar unease creeping back into his tone. "Everyone who saw him was slain."

"Perhaps, then, an investigation is in order."

Mace looked to Yoda, then back at Obi-Wan.

"Agreed," the dark-skinned man said reluctantly. "But I am disconcerted. Should this man be similar in nature to the one you encountered some seven years ago, I would not want the outcome of this mission to have similar repercussions."

It was obvious that he was referring to Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan, contrary to what Anakin expected when he looked over, did not flinch at the reference. This placidity was remarkable to the apprentice.

"What are you suggesting?"

"You and Anakin will leave for Naboo at 0800 hours," Mace said. "Along with Master Saduj and Padawan Carde. This is something we're taking very seriously, Obi-Wan."

"I would imagine so."

"I would advise you to go gather what you'll be needing and prepare yourselves to leave. 0800 hours, Master Kenobi. Be ready."

"Yes, Master."

Obi-Wan and Anakin turned and made their way toward the door, but something stopped the elder Jedi. Turning back, his jaw tightened and he addressed Mace again.

"Master Windu, are you certain there's not something more? Something grander in scheme?"

Mace paused for an instant, letting out a puff of air and running his tongue along his lower lip, the most reckless gesture one would ever see from him.

"May the Force be with you, Master Kenobi."

Obi-Wan nodded.

"And with you."

It wasn't until many moments after Obi-Wan and Anakin departed that anyone spoke again. There was a tension in the room unbecoming of men and women devoted to tranquility. Yoda looked deeply unsettled, but though he knew the feeling was shared by his fellow Council members, he dared not utter what all were thinking. It was again Mace whose voice was heard.

"I sense a plot to destroy the Jedi."

* * *

Brummel ran a hand through his short crop of brown hair, a soft groan escaping him. No one enjoyed being awoken in the middle of the night, but it seemed particularly troublesome for this youth. His Master had ruthlessly kept him up sparring until 0130 that morning. Now, having been robbed of a full night's rest, he was physically and emotionally drained. 

A gentlemen fifteen years his elder smirked as he walked alongside him. Master Pratt Saduj was not quite what one would generally expect in a Jedi Knight, the protectors of peace. His dark eyes were more a source of intimidation than trust, despite the warmth certain individuals seemed to evoke from them.

"Such is the life of a Jedi, my young Padawan," he said, sensing how rough-around-the-edges his apprentice was at present. "You will have plenty of time to rest on the transport."

Brummel stifled a yawn, allowing his eyes to shut for a few moments as they walked.

"Yes, Master."

"Open your eyes."

"Yes, Master," Brummel replied, despite ignoring the order.

Pratt chuckled and looked away from his pupil. The next few minutes were filled with silence, but the Master spoke up again when they were growing nearer to the transport.

"Are you afraid?"

Brummel opened his eyes instantly and faced him.

"No, Master."

Pratt seemed surprised, tilting his head.

"No?"

The younger man seemed quite adamant about this point.

"_No_, Master."

"My dear boy, it is no crime to be frightened. One mustn't believe everything they hear," Pratt said with a fatherly smile. "You will learn this soon enough."

Brummel nodded. "Yes, Master. I still have much to learn."

Pratt laid his hand on the young man's shoulder. Brummel returned his mentor's smile, but he didn't commit to it in full.

"You will, Brummel. You will."


	2. Arriving on Naboo

A/N: I've finally gotten around to cleaning up chapter 2 here, written a long time ago, suffering from a lack of proof-reading and a few awkward turns of phrase. The other chapters written during this time period (the next few) will also be cleaned up in the near future. Happy reading.

* * *

The trip to Naboo was uneventful, though it gave Obi-Wan time to get reacquainted with Pratt. The two had seen a great deal of one another other during their Padawan years, but little since then. Anakin and Brummel were both very quiet, which was normal for the latter man, but not the former.

"I was sorry to hear about Master Qui-Gon," Pratt said, his voice solemn and eyes kind.

Obi-Wan received the remark coolly and replied, "That was a long time ago."

Pratt smiled sadly, realizing it might be a topic best left alone. Little did he know, though, that the travesty on Naboo had never left Obi-Wan's minds during these past seven years. Brummel studied his Master's expression, as he often did, wondering but never discovering what hid behind the façade.

"Mind your thoughts, Padawan," Pratt instructed, shaking Brummel from his reverie. He turned his attention back to Obi-Wan instantly. "This young one here reminds me a lot of you when we were younger."

Obi-Wan's lips turned up, threatening a smile, but never quite getting there. "Oh?"

"So disinterested in the living Force, so headstrong... so wrong about so many things," Pratt said, the last part in jest.

Obi-Wan glanced up the small corridor to the cockpit of the transport. In the distance, he made out a small planet.

"Naboo?" Anakin asked.

Nodding in reply, Obi-Wan turned his attention back to Pratt, who had been staring at him with a watchful eye.

"You seem ill at ease, Ben," Pratt noted thoughtfully.

Anakin and Brummel both silently pondered why Pratt had just addressed Obi-Wan with that moniker, but Obi-Wan didn't seem perplexed by it. Rather, he took the comment in stride.

"Ease is the vehicle through which Senators are killed," Obi-Wan replied disinterestedly.

Pratt let a small laugh escape him, shaking his head. "You haven't changed a bit."

"Nor you, Master Saduj... nor you."

Anakin observed his Master's uneasy reactions with great interest, deciding that he would broach the subject when a more private moment presented itself. In the back of his mind, Brummel, too, shared Obi-Wan's unrest. There was something off, but it came not from Naboo, but rather from the three men before him.

* * *

The transport set down on Naboo effortlessly. The landing platform was sparsely populated, save a few mechanics here and there, who were working on other ships. There was also a small greeting card waiting for them.

Captain Panaka was flanked by two handmaidens and a pair of security officers, all of whom looked a bit edgy, trigger-happy even. A pair of doors slid apart and a ramp materialized slowly from the hull, retracting until it safely reached the ground.

The four Jedi emerged and began to make their way down. At their arrival, Panaka and his party noticeably relaxed.

"Master Kenobi, it is wonderful to see you. I mean that truly," Panaka said, though his words were not those of a friend, merely a man overwhelmed.

Obi-Wan allowed the man a small smile, probing his thoughts ever so gently, something he tried to stay away from as a general rule. "Thank you. I realize these are trying times. We'll assist in any way we can, Captain."

The Jedi turned, gesturing to the rest of his party.

"This is my Padawan, Anakin Skywalker; and this is Master Pratt Saduj and his Padawan, Brummel Carde."

The three newly introduced Jedi bowed in respect to Panaka, who returned the pleasantry with a curt nod.

"Shall I take you to see the senator?"

Obi-Wan seemed poised to reply, but in the same instant the words were formulating in his mouth, a sharp pain struck his head. The feeling was nearly indescribable, but the closest analogy the Jedi could have offered was having shards of glass forced into one's cranium. He stumbled forward a few feet, then sank to his knees. Immediately, Anakin and one of the handmaidens sprung to his aid.

"Master?" Anakin exclaimed. "Master, what's wrong?"

Before he could reply, another wave of pain struck, forcing Obi-Wan's eyes shut. A million pictures slammed into his consciousness, jockeying for position in his psyche. Overwhelmed by the confusion of these million competing and repeating images, he felt as if his mind was being torn apart at the seams.

"Master?" Anakin repeated frantically, looking in vain to his companions.

All stood helpless, seemingly hoping that whatever was afflicting Obi-Wan would pass without intervention. Much to their relief, that seemed to be the case. Slowly, his writhing body settled. His breathing returned to a normal, his eyelids relaxed, and he seemed more at peace than at war.

"Obi-Wan?" Pratt queried, side-stepping his Padawan and moving to stand in front of his fallen peer. "Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan slowly opened his eyes, blinking several times. Then he wearily lifted his head soon after and looked up at his perplexed contemporary.

"What happened?" Pratt asked.

Obi-Wan's voice was hoarse when he replied. "A thousand conflicting visions."

"Of what, Master?" Anakin prodded.

Obi-Wan looked at his Padawan, but shut his eyes as he saw the sun over Anakin's shoulder. "I don't know."

He crumbled to the ground.

* * *

"Obi-Wan!" a familiar voice implored. "Obi- Wan!"

His eyes opened, but he was not greeted with anything he'd have expected. Surrounding him, as far as he could see in all directions, was an unimaginative white palette. No buildings, no doors, no grass, no trees, no people... except one. They were twenty feet or so away and he couldn't quite make them out.

"Obi-Wan," they called again, this time more reserved, less desperate.

The voice was beginning to register. Recognition penetrated denial and he could not doubt the origin of the noise, from whose mouth the sound had originated.

"Master?" Obi-Wan murmured quietly, so quietly the figure couldn't possibly have heard.

Qui-Gon began to walk towards his former Padawan, his steps methodical and easy, but making no noise against the non-existent floor. Obi-Wan slowly lifted himself to his feet, his legs wobbly.

"It is very good to see you again, my young Padawan," Qui-Gon said solemnly, letting out a breath.

His lips turned up into a smile, one which he devoted himself to fully, unlike the ones Obi-Wan always seemed to limited himself to. The young Jedi shut his eyes, then reopened them, relieved his Master was still there. Laying a hand on the man once a boy, Qui-Gon calmly waited for the questions his Padawan would no doubt have.

"Master, how are you... what...?"

Qui-Gon offered him some assistance. "What is this?"

Obi-Wan nodded, his features contorted in confusion.

"Obi-Wan, you must listen to my words carefully and you must not question their validity or their purpose," Qui- Gon began deliberately, quickening his pace just a bit with each word, as if he'd suddenly become aware of a time constraint. "You have of late been bombarded with images you've been unable to make out, or explain."

His apprentice listened intently, clinging to his Master's every word as he had during the pair's encounters in life.

"These images will take you to the truth, Obi-Wan. They are the future, but the future is always in motion. Be mindful of the living Force, but allow these images to supplement your present goings-on. Think of this foresight as a tool for your investigation, a path to a greater truth."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said simply, his fierce loyalty obvious in his tone.

There was a pause then, Qui-Gon looking away from his friend, consumed by another thought.

"There's something more, Master... isn't there?" the young Jedi encouraged.

Qui-Gon removed his hand from Obi-Wan's shoulder and turned away from him, folding his arms across his chest. The elder man sought to avoid satisfying the younger man with a reply, but found it increasingly difficult, feeling Obi- Wan's burning gaze on his back.

"I was wrong, Obi-Wan," he conceded. "I was wrong."

"About what, Master?" Obi-Wan implored.

Qui-Gon looked pale, even for an apparition. "Everything. Nothing. I was so caught up in my legacy that I was blinded. I became a foolish old man in love with prophecy, Obi-Wan. I wanted so badly to believe it that I did. But I was wrong; I realize that now. The boy is not the ch..."

* * *

Obi-Wan's eyes fluttered open and took in their new surroundings. The dull white pallor of moments prior was replaced by the triviality of worldly possessions, and by rich, virile colors.

"Damn it!" he muttered to himself, shutting his eyes tightly, as if he could somehow recall the image of Qui-Gon and continue their dialogue.

"Obi-Wan?" a small, fragile voice questioned.

Struck immediately that he was not alone in the room, he silenced the emotion that had crept into his voice in a moment of weakness. He attempted to take note of where he was now. It appeared familiar. Obi-Wan had slept in this bed before, on this pillow before, in a room like this before. Rolling his head to his left, he was greeted by the pleasant sight of Senator Padme Amidala.

"Well, welcome back, Master Obi-Wan," she said, smiling at her companion of days long past.

"Forgive my ignorance and my current state, m'lady, but how did I get here?" he asked, his disorientation plain.

Her smile melted into a frown and Obi-Wan inwardly cursed himself, a thought which only served to confuse him further. "You gave everyone quite a scare on the landing platform, Master Kenobi."

Obi-Wan struggled to sit up in his bed, finding the action much more difficult than he'd anticipated. Padme rose from her chair and gestured for him to lie back down.

"Master Kenobi, don't strain yourself. Whatever it is that ails you has induced a rather high fever. The healer will be by to see you shortly," Padme explained, but it did not seem to convince the stubborn Jedi. "Please, Obi-Wan."

At her last statement, Obi-Wan paused in his endeavor. He spared a glance at her eyes and saw the genuine concern that resonated from the dark orbs. There was something in her voice and something in the way she looked upon him that unconsciously forced him back down to the bed

"I am truly sorry, Senator," Obi-Wan said, shutting his eyes.

"For what?"

"I'm here to protect you," he reasoned sleepily. "Not to be watched over as an invalid, m'lady."

She smiled at this, at his devotion to duty, at the unattainable standards he constantly set for himself in every facet of life. In that regard, he hadn't changed much since the last time he'd shared her company

"You are no invalid," she said, pausing an instant before adding, "And old friends do not address one another with such formality. I am Padme to you, Obi- Wan Kenobi."

He did not reply, but the ghost of a smile did grace his bearded face before he drifted back to sleep. Padme sat back in her chair and watched the rise and fall of his chest, confirming his continued life. She smiled again, pondering how he managed to make helplessness appear noble.

Obi-Wan _had_ changed a bit over the years. His hair was a bit longer now and his Padawan braid had been cut. A thin beard hid a portion of his face, settled a ways below his eyes. That was one thing that hadn't changed. Whatever trials and tribulations he'd faced had not robbed him of the kindness, the compassion, and the care that had always been visible in his eyes.

Her thoughts were cut short by the sound of the door opening a few feet away. Anakin stepped inside and it shut behind him.

"The palace perimeter is secure, m'lady," he said reassuringly, smiling intently at her. "You will leave at nightfall in favor of a more remote and secure location."

Padme stood and faced him. Was this really the same little boy whose fears she'd soothed some seven years ago on Tattooine? His body had developed a great deal, though his face still betrayed his considerable youth. There was something very settling about his boyishness, as if it strengthened the notion that time was not passing as quickly as it sometimes seemed to.

"I seem to have lost track of time," she replied. "How long from now?"

Anakin's smile intensified. "That's about fifteen hours, Padme."

His use of her name did not bother her in that he knew her well enough to address her that way, but there was something quietly eerie about the way it rolled off his tongue. And the way he looked at her… despite his attempt at charm, there was something desperate in his demeanor.

"Very good," she said, turning back to look at Obi-Wan's resting form.

Anakin, too, took notice of him. "How is he?"

"His fever's still quite high, but he was rather lucid when he woke a few moments ago," she said, her expression softening as she continued to look at him.

There was a short silence, where Anakin sought a way in which to salvage the conversation, to force it to continue. Unsatisfied, he opened the door and stepped outside. Before he closed it, though, he stepped back into the doorway, his hand hovering over the key panel.

"Fear not, m'lady. Myself and Master Saduj will get to the bottom of this as soon as possible," Anakin said, his tone both solemn and arrogant. "And you will be in good hands with Brummel and... Master Obi-Wan."

Padme smiled and nodded, ending the conversation. Anakin smoothly tapped the key panel and stepped out of the room, this time with finality, leaving the Senator alone with her thoughts. Their reintroduction earlier had been short-lived and this encounter had also been mild in longevity, but there was something very odd about their interactions. An awkwardness she could not have foreseen existed between them, prompted in great part, she surmised, by the way he looked at her. There was something raw, primal about it, and it frightened her. Obi-Wan stirred and she returned her attention to him, a far from troubling prospect.

* * *

Pratt studied the data readout on the screen in front of him with great interest. To his left, Brummel ran a hand through his hair, yawning slightly. The Master looked at his apprentice amusedly, leaning back in his chair. Brummel took this as a sign, sitting up straight and returning his attention to the screen.

"Sorry to keep you awake," Pratt said, his voice light and unaccusing.

"Forgive me, Master," came the predictable reply from the rigid Padawan.

Pratt chuckled lightly and turned back to the screen, reaching a hand out occasionally to adjust the data feed.

"What are we looking for, Master?"

Pratt frowned, obviously disappointed in whatever it was that had just appeared. "We're searching for abnormalities in the surveillance logs... anything out of the ordinary at all."

Brummel nodded, staring intently at the information his Master called up for their viewing. Occasionally, he would stymie the urge to yawn or close his eyes, something he decided he did far too often. For his part, Pratt was very patient.

"I'm going to recall the video from the three nights of the attacks," Pratt said, turning to face his Padawan. "Captain Panaka told me that the videos all cut out just before the guards are killed. Be discerning."

Brummel nodded his agreement.

"All right, I'm going to play them back from a few seconds before they cut out," Pratt said, scratching the small wealth of stubble that had accumulated on his face since he'd shaved the night before.

The videos played concurrently for the two Jedi. The first showed four guards, turning their heads at what one would assume was the attackers and raising their blasters. The second was very similar in nature, differing only in that there were six guards, rather than four. The third as well seemed to show the same, sans once more the numbers of guards, which now numbered eight.

"Wait a minute," Brummel said, squinting at the third video.

"What? Do you see something?" Pratt coaxed.

Brummel leaned forward in his seat and pointed at the third video. "Replay that one from time index 925 and slow it down."

As he moved to make the adjustments, Pratt offered, "The surviving guards of the first two incidents said that they were amateurs with rudimentary blasters."

The third video began playing again and it confirmed Brummel's suspicion. Pratt watched closely, but didn't have the benefit of knowing what he was looking for as his apprentice did. Subsequently, he gave him a questioning look.

"Watch closely, Master. Right before the video cuts out, the north most guard on the screen's blaster comes out of his hand," Brummel explained. "But it doesn't fall to the ground. In the last two frames, you can see it being elevated."

Pratt looped the last two frames, studying it and specifically looking for what it was Brummel was claiming. The guard in question was the farthest away, thus making him the most difficult to see, but what the young Padawan proposed was undeniable. The blaster was indeed being lifted into the air before the feed was interrupted.

"It seems the Council was right, Brummel," Pratt said, his eyes absent of his trademark good-naturedness. "The person we're dealing with is undeniably force-sensitive."

Brummel took account of the change in his Master's demeanor, from focused and serious to grave and concerned. "A Sith, Master?"

This remark did not fail to sober the elder man, who gestured for his Padawan to slow down. "I'm not going to conclude anything of that nature just yet."

"But that's what you think."

Pratt nodded, watching the moment loop on the screen.


	3. Encounter with the Sith

A/N: Chapter 3 has now been cleaned up.

* * *

Anakin ambled aimlessly through the palace halls, his mind elsewhere, a fact apparent to all who passed him. Padme's reaction to him was disconcerting. She'd looked terribly uncomfortable. Why was that, though? What had he done, said to make her feel that way?

There were so many things he wanted to tell her, needed to tell her. For almost a decade, he'd both dreamt and thought of her tirelessly each and every day, a prospect which his Master found consistently unsettling. He had known Padme for only a few days and yet, despite her absence from his life, she'd become its focal point. It was a dangerous game the Padawan was playing with his own heart and mind.

"Anakin!" a weary voice called.

Shaken from his thoughts, the young apprentice turned to see Obi-Wan struggling to catch up with him, his eyes dazed with the fever. A pair of sweat beads dripped off his forehead into eyes. He blinked a few times as they stung. Anakin shook his head in disapproval.

"Master, you should be resting. You're very sick," the boy said in an ironic role reversal.

Obi-Wan brushed the remark off. "Anakin, you must keep your wits about you. Do not get distracted."

Anakin grew defensive "Have you been violating my thoughts, Master?"

"No," Obi-Wan replied smoothly. "But it's obvious to anyone with sense that your mind is not on your duties."

Anakin nodded, hanging his head slightly. He knew his Master was right, that he needed to focus on what was at hand. But what of Padme? He couldn't very well ignore what he'd been waiting on for all these years.

"Master, she still thinks I'm a little boy," he said, his voice adopting the whiney edge it did habitually when he was frustrated.

It occurred to Obi-Wan that in a number of respects, his apprentice _was_ still a little boy. Anakin wasn't maturing emotionally at the pace that a Padawan his age should have been. He was cocky, arrogant, and self-assured to a fault. Seldom did he consider the consequences for him or others before he acted on whatever his present desires were. This brash behavior had gotten them both into trouble on a number of occasions.

"Padawan, we are not here for you to sort out your feelings," Obi-Wan said sternly. "We are here to protect the Senator and uncover the identity of the assassin."

"But Master..."

The young dissenter was quickly cut off in his rebuttal by the palm of Obi-Wan's hand, a clear sign of the Jedi Knight's annoyance. "No buts, Anakin. I will not tolerate this sort of behavior. Let's not forget that a person's life has been put in our hands... that millions of lives have been put in our hands. It is vital that, in the coming months, Senator Amidala be allowed to actively participate in the Senatorial debates or many could suffer... in the same vain you did."

The last part was meant to bring the point him and it did just that, eliciting a shudder from the apprentice, whose thoughts turned to his mother's enslavement. He chose not to respond to any of what Obi-Wan said, though, knowing he was right. Instead, the boy chose a different approach.

"She's not just some Senator, some assignment... she's Padme," Anakin said quietly, avoiding his Master's watchful gaze.

Obi-Wan softened. This time when he spoke, his voice was fatherly.

"I know, Anakin. There will be time for pleasantries when our job is done," he said. "I promise."

Anakin nodded conformably. "Yes, Master."

Attacking suddenly, a reprise of the sharp pains Obi-Wan felt earlier pervaded his head, and he stumbled toward the near wall, leaning on it for support, his legs feeling heavy. The visions struck him with more intensity now than they had during his previous conniption, and it wasn't long before his feet slipped out from under him and he fell to the floor, grasping his head.

"Master!" Anakin cried, dropping to his knees beside him.

The images weren't so distorted this time. Obi-Wan was able to make out bits and pieces occasionally, concentrating on them in spite of the immense pain that racked his body. A black cloak. A dark figure. Padme screaming. Anakin's lifeless body. Qui-Gon's words echoed, providing a soundtrack for the slide show that raged in his mind: "The future is always in motion." He could still stop this.

"Anakin..." Obi-Wan ground out through gritted teeth, fighting off the pictures that still plagued him. Anakin looked at his Master expectantly, still crouched beside him. "Be careful, Anakin. I have seen it."

Obi-Wan's head fell back, landing against the marble floor with a thud. His arms fell uselessly to his sides and he did not move.

"Seen what, Master?" Anakin demanded of the unconscious man in front of him.

Satisfied that his question would garner no answer, he checked the elder's pulse, relieved to find it was strong. Anakin slung Obi- Wan's arm over his shoulder and attempted to pull him to his feet.

"Can somebody help me?!"

* * *

The marketplace was littered with vendors, each vying for the attention of the passing customers and under the auspices of no authority figures. It was quite chaotic, a stark contrast from the rest of the well-structured, orderly Naboo planet. The scheming entrepreneurs sold everything from oranges to spare cruiser parts and were quite adept at using trickery to make credit here or there.

"Master, I don't see what you expect to find here," Brummel said, side-stepping a passing droid. "Besides gullible fools and cheating scum."

Pratt seemed disinterested when he replied, looking about the surrounding area. "Yes, well, scum always seem to have the best information, in my experience, Padawan. Think of it as a universal certainty."

They continued on, ignoring the offers of various shady characters, all of whom seemed to stop pushing their products when they realized the pair were Jedi. The locals, though, seemed to pay their identities no mind, pushing past them as they would anyone else to get to where they were going.

Brummel still couldn't quite figure what his Master planned to get out of this excursion, but decided to trust his judgment as he had so many times in the past. It had been a generally profitable philosophy, as Pratt's experience was obviously much greater than his own.

The young man's confirmation of the assassin's Force sensitivity had not entirely been a revelation, but it was a step in the right direction.

"Master, do you see any connection between the first two attacks and the third?"

Pratt shook his head. "No. A Senator has many enemies. The first two attempts were the coincidental efforts of inept fools."

Brummel nodded his agreement, pleased that he and his Master were on the same page. There were a number of other questions he wished to explore, but before he could do so, an odd feeling cut into his thoughts, sparking a wave of concern in him. He quickly spun to face Pratt, who seemed to be grappling with something much the same.

"Yes, I sense it too," Pratt said, looking away from Brummel and scanning the surrounding area.

From about twenty feet away, a cloaked figure seemed to be looking in their direction, though his face was entirely hidden by a hood hanging down over his forehead. He stood as still as a corpse, waiting for his moment, waiting for their attention. A lightsaber dangled from his belt, but it was mostly obscured by his cloak.

Everyone in the market went about their business, unaware of what was perhaps to occur. They knew nothing of assassination ploys, of Jedi, of Sith. Their concerns seemed so trivial and yet it was all they knew. But to Pratt and Brummel, time stood still. Frozen was everything and everyone as they searched the crowd with their eyes.

The cloaked figure pulled back his hood, revealing himself. His face was pitch black and his head hairless. Every bit of him was the color of evening, expect his demonic eyes, which were a harsh shade of red and looked capable of corrupting even an angel's soul.

The Jedi's eyes fell upon him, locking themselves in his gaze. No words were spoken and no man moved. The dark figure sought to feel the intentions of Pratt and Brummel, and they his. Meanwhile, the locals went about their business, but seemed more careful to avoid stepping in the Jedi's paths now, as if they had some vague sense of the events unfolding.

"It's him," Brummel declared, his eyes never leaving the man.

Those words seemed to be a catalyst of some sort, for he and Pratt sprung into action, sprinting through the crowd toward the dark figure. Just as nomadic crowd had pushed aside the two Knights earlier, they were now pushed aside by the hurried warriors. The dark figure retreated, moving swiftly through the barrage of consumers, much quicker than his pursuers.

He was rapidly creating a distance between them that would be hard to make up. More so than his younger, more agile apprentice, Pratt was laboring to maintain his speed. He was far from what one would deem old, but the dark figure was so quick that the energy he was expending in the pursuit was more than he'd been accustomed to in quite some time.

The further they got, the farther behind Brummel's Master dropped back, but the Padawan had no intentions of slowing his grueling pace, determined to catch up with the presumed assassin. A pair of short, lizard-like vendors were pushing a cart filled with various mechanical devices across the street, much to the chagrin of several patrons they bumped into.

Pratt darted to his left a few feet before the cart, figuring to go around it. At the last instant, however, one of the vendors yanked it back, pulling it right into his path. Cursing silently, the Jedi struck the cart at full speed, his momentum knocking the entire thing clear over. He went with it, tumbling over the side and spilling onto the ground, rolling a few feet past it.

Instantly, the vendors began a heated debate with one another, saving an expletive for the fallen Master now and then. Hearing the commotion behind him, Brummel looked back, spotting his Master unmoving on the ground. He looked ahead toward the retreating assassin, then back at Pratt. He couldn't yet speculate how badly his teacher was injured.

Grunting in exasperation, Brummel turned and walked back toward the pummeled cart to attend to Pratt. The grounded man began to stir, groaning as he sat up, and his Padawan placed a hand on his back to support him.

"Master, are you all right?" the apprentice asked, looking him over for any visible injuries.

Pratt flattened his palms on the ground on either side of him and forced himself to his feet, his apprentice hold his arm to help support him.

"I'll live."

Accepting his reply to be the truth, Brummel looked off into the distance where the dark figure had escaped. He'd slipped through their grasp and the Padawan feared their best chance to catch him had just passed them by.

* * *

Windu sauntered into the secluded room and sat down beside Yoda. The 800-year-old of diminutive stature need not open his eyes to know who it was.

"Brewing trouble is on Naboo," Yoda said.

"What do you see?"

Yoda opened his eyes, turning to face his colleague, friend, and confidant of so many years. They had shared many moments of apprehension like this.

"I see nothing. That is how I know. Cloud the future the dark side does," Yoda said, closing his eyes once more.

Windu, too, closed his eyes in contemplation. "Then we must have faith in Obi-Wan and Pratt."

"Mmm," the green Jedi muttered enigmatically, returning to his meditation.

* * *

Obi-Wan moaned as he opened his heavy eyes. His body was not fairing as well as he had deluded himself into believing it was earlier when he ventured to speak with Anakin. The pounding in his head made it feel like it would explode at any moment, the center of his chest felt as if someone had stacked thousands of weights atop it, and his hands and arms felt like molasses.

Looking about, he realized he was back in the same bed he'd left earlier to chat with his Padawan. This was becoming a bad habit – collapsing, being dragged away, and waking up in the same place. Once again, he sensed, he was not alone. He rolled his head across the fluffy pillow behind his head, a carbon copy of his previous action, but this time he was not so lucky as to be greeted by the sight of Padme.

"How do you feel, Master?" Anakin asked, pushing forward in his seat.

The sight of his apprentice sent the images from earlier tumbling back to the front of his mind – a black cloak, a dark figure, Padme screaming, and Anakin's lifeless body. He shut his eyes.

"I'm fine," he said, though it was entirely unconvincing.

Anakin seemed abnormally annoyed with this denial, despite its typicality and behavioral consistency. He stood from his seat and shook his head, turning away. "Funny. You didn't look fine when you dropped to the ground for the second time today, Master."

Obi-Wan, sensing the boy's hostility, adopted a more soothing voice. "Anakin, I'm sorry to have done that to you, but you needn't concern yourself with me. I'm all right."

For whatever reason, this seemed to leave him content. Perhaps, though, Obi-Wan thought, that is not what is troubling him. Anakin turned back to face him, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Master, during your first episode, you spoke of visions," he said. "And in the second, you spoke of having seen 'it.'"

Obi-Wan coughed into his fist, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. "I have seen snapshots, that is all."

"Of what nature?"

The Jedi Master paused to formulate a cryptic reply, but was not allotted the time necessary to do so by his eager apprentice.

"Prophetic?" Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan did not possess the energy to continue offering round-about truths, so he simply nodded in the affirmative. Anakin sat back down beside him, his fascination and distress both apparent.

"Do not fret, my young Padawan," Obi-Wan said very deliberately, careful to enunciate each word. "But do heed my warning. Do not allow your duties to be swallowed by complacency or a wandering mind."

Anakin nodded dutifully. "Yes, Master."

The swish of the opening door on the far side of the room demanded their attention. Pratt and Brummel stepped inside, allowing the door to shut itself behind them.

Obi-Wan lifted his head off the pillow. "Master Saduj..."

Pratt quickly interrupted him. "Don't get up, Ben."

Offering a disapproving glance of his own, Anakin motioned for his Master to lay back down. Much to the surprise of all of them, he did so.

"Have you been able to unearth anything concerning the assassin yet?" Obi-Wan asked hopefully.

Pratt and his Padawan exchanged an uneasy look.

"You could say that," Brummel replied.

Obi-Wan's quizzical expression was enough for him to continue. "We believe we saw him in the marketplace. We gave chase, but he eluded us."

"How do you know it was him?" Anakin asked.

Brummel shuddered at the memory, running a hand through his hair. "I never experienced a feeling so dark, so deceptive in the entirety of my life."

Obi-Wan was thoughtful for a moment, creasing his forehead as he considered a few things. "What did he look like?"

"Both his attire and complexion were black," Pratt said. "Except for the reddest eyes I've ever seen."

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut. A black cloak. A dark figure. Padme screaming. Anakin's lifeless body.


	4. Going Into Hiding

A/N: Chapter 4 has been cleaned up.

* * *

Padme sat on the edge of her bed, hunched over, hands resting against her elbows, which themselves rested against her knees. Sabe was busy gathering clothing and other basic items and placing them inside a pair of suitcases. Intermittently, she would take something out and replace it with another item, striving, seemingly in vain, to fit everything she needed inside.

"M'lady, what's troubling you?" the handmaiden asked.

"Oh, nothing, Sabe."

Sabe laughed, turning away from the young woman she'd known for so long. Padme frowned, her gaze heavy on her friend's back.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

For the first time, Sabe stopped what she was doing and spun around to face the former Queen. "I'm sorry, m'lady, it's just that... with you, it's never nothing."

Padme sighed, pushing her weight backwards until she was lying on her back. "That's one thing we can agree on."

"What, then, troubles you?" Sabe asked again.

Sighing once more, something the Senator noticed she'd done quite a bit of late, she contemplated her reply. She wanted to choose the right words, of course, but at the same time, Padme wasn't quite positive what it was that troubled her. Well, there were a great many things, but most of them were ever-present and seldom struck her with a feeling of melancholy as potent as this one.

"Life," she said, unable to decide on something specific.

Sabe frowned and began to go about her work again. "That's a rather broad genre of discontent, m'lady."

"True," Padme conceded, her eyes not leaving the safety of the ceiling. "How about this? I'm no good at it."

"At what?" Sabe asked.

Padme yawned, casually laying a hand over her mouth as she did so. "At life."

"Nobody's good at life, Senator. That's just something we have to accept."

"Perhaps," the Senator replied distantly, her mind now elsewhere.

Sabe, noticing Padme's wavering attention, let the moment pass and left her to her thoughts. Having seen Anakin and Obi-Wan was pleasant, but also perturbing in a way. It served to show her how much time had passed to see Anakin's growth. He looked so very different and it brought her to the realization that her life had changed a great deal as well, but that she wasn't necessarily happy about the fact.

It had been thought best for her to serve her planet in the Senate by her political confidants, but she now questioned her decision to adhere to these advisements. Padme had achieved very little, despite her best efforts. It felt as if she was battling for an endless stream of lost causes, one after another, until she forgot what goodness was, forgot what she was hoping to achieve.

Padme had had three dates since she was elected to the Senate and was admonished for every one of them. She had little emotional connection to anyone, a fact that did not ease the stress of her profession and the consequences her every action carried.

Her thoughts, though, were cut short by the swish of the opening door and Anakin's lanky frame leaning against the wall just inside the room. Sabe gave a questioning glance to Padme, who smiled curtly and nodded. She took the hint and stood to leave.

"I'll just finish in a bit, m'lady," she tossed over her shoulder as she exited, leaving Anakin and Padme alone.

Anakin took a step toward the bed, massaging the back of his right hand with the palm of his left, his nervousness obvious to the young Senator. She sat up, returning to the edge of the bed, where she'd been seated just a few minutes before.

"Hello, m'lady," he said, doing his best to break out a winning smile, something he attempted far too often for her liking. "Your departure is imminent; I'd say, no more than thirty minutes from now."

Padme nodded, forcing herself to return his smile. It wasn't that she harbored any ill will toward him. She was quite fond of him when he was that little boy on Tattooine, and he'd certainly given her no reason to dislike him since their reacquaintance, but there was something so unsettling about the way he looked at her, the way his eyes his intense admiration. She feared she was on a pedestal impossible to climb down from.

"Thank you, Ani," she replied.

The smile that had accompanied his earlier comment lingered, and it didn't go unnoticed that his chest puffed out a bit when next he spoke. "I wouldn't worry, Padme. You'll be back here in no time. I'll get to the bottom of the whole affair very quickly."

Padme noted privately how repetitive the discussion was, matching their earlier dialogue almost to the letter. It seemed Anakin was desperate to keep the flow of words ongoing or, perhaps more interestingly, hiding something. And it wasn't like the boisterous and outgoing Jedi learner to keep something to himself; of that much, she was certain.

While she'd pondered the whole thing, however, Anakin had been taking steps towards her, eventually settling beside her on the bed. Padme did her best not to seem uncomfortable, fighting the urge to stand and move away from him. The thought instantly made her feel guilty. He was infatuated with her, held an image of her in his mind that she wasn't sure it was fair to shatter.

"I've missed you, Padme," he said, his voice gravelly for someone so young.

The Senator forced another smile. "And I you, Ani."

While he'd paid it little mind earlier, her addressing him as "Ani" seemed greatly vexing to him this time. He sighed loudly, turning away from her for a moment, gathering himself. When he turned back to her, it was clear he'd say what he'd come to say.

"I've thought of you every night since we parted. You're in my thoughts constantly."

Padme opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out. This was a dangerous game she found herself in. This boy's heart was tottering on his sleeve and any wrong word could knock it clean off. On the other hand, any wrong word to a different end might serve to lead him on. Anakin stared her expectantly, a sign that that the ball was in her court.

Much to her delight, however, and to the Padawan's chagrin, she never got to respond to his loaded statements. Both looked toward the opening door, watching as Obi-Wan emerged from outside. It was still apparent to the naked eye that he was not well, but some of his earlier paleness had been replaced by a more natural skin tone.

Anakin stood quickly from the bed, staring a hole through his sickly teacher. "Hello, Master. What a _pleasure_ it is to see you."

A stern glance from Obi-Wan made it apparent that he was not in the mood for such tomfoolery. Recognizing this as a battle he could not win, the apprentice backed down,.

"M'lady, everything is set for our departure," Obi-Wan said flatly, as if it strained him to speak.

Padme smiled genuinely at the Jedi, taking notice that he'd reverted back to the formality with which he'd first spoke earlier. She would have to mention it later.

"Thank you, Obi-Wan. I shall be out shortly," she said, her voice brighter than it had been before his arrival, something Anakin found quite detestable.

Obi-Wan bowed shortly, turning to leave. In the doorway, though, he noticed his apprentice was not in tow.

"Anakin," he said, pleading with himself to be patient when the boy glared at him. "A word, Padawan."

Taking a deep breath, Anakin looked back at Padme and then followed his Master out of the room. Upon their leave, they were quickly replaced by Sabe, who set about finishing Padme's packing.

Anakin and Obi-Wan, meanwhile, began their walk down the nearest corridor, an uncomfortable tension quickly developing. The boy thought of how infuriating his Master could be, yanking his leash at every turn. Obi-Wan thought of how undisciplined Anakin was, expecting to get his way in life's every facet.

"Master, I was trying to have a conversation," Anakin said through clenched teeth. "It's been so very long since I've seen her that I thought we might catch up."

Obi-Wan decided he'd be best off downplaying the situation, knowing he had far more pressing matters to get to. "You will get your chance, Anakin, just not now. We shall be leaving at any moment, anyway, my young Padawan. Time simply did not look favorably upon you on this day."

This deflated Anakin's argument, the apprentice realizing Obi-Wan was right on all accounts. He hung his head just a bit as they continued walking, the Padawan slowing unconsciously on occasion to allow his ill Master to keep up with him.

"Anakin, I need you to listen to me, much more intently than is your habit," Obi-Wan said, his voice taking on an edge that ornamented the passion of his words. "We spoke before of awareness, of avoiding distraction. More than anything I've ever told you before, take those words to heart. Keep them close to you and remember them when you feel your senses relaxing. You cannot allow them to."

"Yes, Master," Anakin replied submissively.

Obi-Wan stopped where he stood, closing his eyes a moment as a wave of dizziness passed over him.

"Master?" Anakin said, quickly reaching out to steady him.

The wave of instability was quickly over, allowing the Jedi to open his eyes. He did not continue walking, however. Rather, Obi-Wan placed a fatherly hand on Anakin's shoulder and stared into his eyes, locking them there and refusing to let them waver.

"Anakin, you must understand that all hell need not break loose for a looming danger to manifest itself into disaster," he said, the volume of his voice consistent, but its intensity building.

The boy nodded. These were not what he had come to think of as the Jedi's ordinary rumblings. The words he spoke now seemed much more significant.

"Be conscious of your thoughts, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, placing his first two fingers against the apprentice's temple, then moving them down to his heart. "Be conscious of your feelings. They will not fail you if you pay them the proper mind."

Anakin nodded vehemently. "Yes, Master."

Obi-Wan cupped the back of the Padawan's head with his palm, nodding and allowing himself a short-lived smile. When he released him, the two resumed their slow-paced walk.

* * *

Pratt smiled at his apprentice as the boy slung his modest black duffel bag over his shoulder. Part of him hated to send his Padawan off, for he wished to be able to watch over him. However, another part, the more vocal part, knew that it was for the better.

"How does it feel to be heading away from my watchful eye?" he asked, a familiar sparkle in his eye.

Brummel, as he did in dealings with his Master as a general rule, curved his lips upward in a semblance of a smile, before he replied. "Oh, I gather it will be a valuable experience, Master."

Pratt grunted. "A valuable experience? I used to be a bit more excited in my younger days, but if you feel the incessant need to be rigid like Master Obi-Wan, it is your prerogative, Padawan."

"Thank you, Master," Brummel said, taking one last look about the room before he and Pratt made their way out, beginning their short walk to rendezvous with Obi-Wan and Padme.

Pratt lightly probed the younger man's mind as they walked, discovering a slight bit of anxiety, but nothing that extended beyond the professional concern that was expected of all Knights. Still, the elder man couldn't help but wonder if there was more, and if there wasn't, should there be?

"Are you afraid?" he asked.

It was a question Brummel had heard innumerable times over the years, but he never seemed to reply the way his Master wanted him to. "No, Master."

His lips tightening, Pratt attempted a slightly different approach. "Brummel, I've found that it is more detrimental to hide fear than it is to just openly admit it when it is initially felt."

"I have no fear," Brummel remarked effortlessly.

Pratt let out a breath, his tone a conglomerate of discontent, amusement, and frustration. "So stubborn... I can only tell you what I know, Padawan. It is up to you to implement my teachings."

"Yes, Master," Brummel replied in a monotone, hoping to end the debate with the well-disciplined response.

The rest of the walk passed in silence.

* * *

Windu stared out the window, looking over a slice of Coruscant with great interest. The hustle and bustle was ironic in how it paled in comparison to the stress enslaved within the calm, slow-moving Jedi Temple. For a moment, the Councilman envied those living that different life, that life less vital to the stability of the universe.

He and the rest of the Order were directly charged with ensuring that peace would prosper the galaxy over, and despite what he preached – and believed in wholly – it was hard not to get a swelled head thinking about the power and influence he wielded.

But, then again, he felt more powerless each and every day. At times, Windu mused that his very existence was a paradox: powerful enough to wreck the universe, powerless to stop others from wrecking it. Things had been so much simpler when he was merely a Jedi Knight, when he was a Padawan, when he was a little boy.

"Credit for your thoughts, old friend?" a friendly voice behind him asked.

Windu turned away from the window, smiling as Kooth, his longtime fellow Councilman, moved to stand beside him. They both turned their attention back to the commotion of Coruscant, folding their arms across their chests.

"Any word from Naboo?" Kooth asked.

Windu nodded. "Yes, Obi-Wan contacted us a short while ago. They are taking the Senator to a more secure location so that Master Saduj may continue the investigation uninhibited."

There was a silent moment, wherein Kooth knew that the well-aged Jedi was holding something back. Knowing his friend, he waited a moment, fully expecting him to offer the information up eventually. He didn't wait long.

"They've identified the attacker," Windu offered. "Our suspicions have become an unfortunate reality."

Neither wished to speak the word "Sith," but it was an unnecessary formality. They were quickly losing their grip, losing their ability to safeguard the Republic. This was the last thing they could afford to cope with at the moment amidst the other political follies that were leading the galaxy toward unrest, violence, and – potentially – succession.

"The times grow bleaker with each day," Kooth said, his eyes narrowing.

Windu dropped his folded arms to his side. "I fear that is a trend that will continue."

"We must retain our faith," Kooth said. "We must respect the will of destiny."

Windu took a pair of even breaths. "Both are difficult tasks, my friend."

"Not so difficult. Have faith in destiny and perhaps it will have faith in you, Master Windu," Kooth replied, returning his gaze to the transparent window. "Chance and destiny are not so different, as you think, dear friend. Chance is merely destiny late in arriving."

* * *

Obi-Wan looked out over the water, studying the reflection of the moon in the pure liquid. Their trip had gone as smoothly as he could have hoped, retaining both its elements of secrecy and of simplicity, two things he valued greatly. The countryside was extraordinary, like something when imagines when trapped in some dark place.

The surrounding area around the small house was covered on one side by the water body they'd crossed to get there and on all other sides by golden fields covered in flowers that had warmed many hearts of the generations who had ventured to this secluded spot. It was a shame the locale would be wasted. He felt miserable, though it would take a great deal of diplomacy to obtain an admission of such, and he needed to be focused on his assignment, not admiring the vegetation or serenity of this place.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Padme asked, standing beside Obi-Wan, who was seated on the bank of the water, his boots dangling just inches above the murky cold void below.

Obi-Wan looked up and smiled, one that put his half-hearted efforts to shame. He gestured for her to sit down beside him. She did so, looking out over the water.

"It's beautiful," Padme commented, refreshed by the change of pace. "I don't get to see anything this lovely very often these days."

She turned to gauge his reaction, looking him over as she had while he slept earlier that day. While Anakin had changed drastically, shedding his childlike innocence for the unbridled passion of a young adult, Obi-Wan hadn't changed much at all. Take away the hair, which he'd grown out a bit, and the thin beard covering his face, and she would wager he didn't look a day over 21, his age when they'd first met.

As young as he still looked, though – and as attractive – she thought about how pale he looked with his current sickness, and how his face – even as it was partially obscured by his beard – was still noticeably flushed. She considered whether or not to make mention of it and decided that she would let it go for now.

"I wish you'd relax a little," Padme said, tensing her body mockingly.

Obi-Wan chuckled at the impression. "I apologize fervently, m'lady. I shall do my best to appear at ease."

Her face brightened, ecstatic that the Jedi had allowed that wondrous, happy laugh to escape him. She locked the memory away for another time, for it wasn't soon likely to recur.

"I thought we agreed on Padme," she said, rolling her head across her shoulder to look at him.

He smiled back at her. "That agreement was made under duress, Senator."

They stared at one another for a few seconds, both enjoying the moment for what it was.

"It's so very good to see you again, Obi-Wan," she said finally, vulnerably.

Obi-Wan did his best not to read between the lines. "Likewise."

Another few seconds passed before the Senator stood up, using Obi-Wan's shoulder to stabilize herself in the process. Once up, she glanced back at the water and sighed contentedly, then looked back at the Jedi.

"Go to bed soon, Obi-Wan. You look in dire need of rest," she said.

He contorted his head to look behind him, his face wearing the kind expression that seldom left it. "I will."

The young Senator turned and retreated towards the house. "Goodnight, Obi- Wan."

"Goodnight, Padme," he replied.

The water was cool and clear.


	5. Ruminations by the Water

A/N: Chapter 5 is now cleaned up.

* * *

Pratt groaned as he shifted in his chair, lowering a hand to his chest, hissing as he pressed a bit against his bruised ribs.

His haggard state was not lost on Anakin. "Master, are you all right?"

"Oh, I'm a bit sore," Pratt replied, his patented smile dancing on his face. "But I'll manage, my young friend."

Anakin knew he would draw no further admission from the proud Jedi and decided to let the matter lie. Pratt himself moved swiftly to another topic.

"How does it feel to have some time away from your teacher's shadow?"

Anakin's smile answered for him. He hadn't given it much thought, but now that it occurred to him, it was quite a nice diversion from the status quo, from his overly-critical father figure.

"Like I've been freed from the tightest shackles ever constructed," Anakin replied lightly, his words hovering somewhere between jest and honesty.

Pratt nodded understandingly. "Ben is a throwback. The Jedi Order is gradually shifting, it seems to me. The new generations seem to realize the importance of harnessing emotion, rather than ignoring it, and of being given latitude, rather than following a strict code. As long as I've known your Master, though, he has resisted these changes."

There was a glimmer of confusion in the apprentice's eyes. "Master Saduj, if I may be candid, I've noticed no such evolution of values."

His smile fading slightly, Pratt relinquished his point just a bit. "It is a subtle change, Padawan, but one that exists nonetheless."

"And you support such changes?"

Pratt's faded smile became further reclusive "Yes, Anakin. I think it's vital that the change be allowed to flourish. The Jedi have for some time been gradually deteriorating in both worth and power. It is necessary that everyone be made to understand the importance of using emotion, rather than discouraging it."

"But that's one of the most basic tenants of the Order. Master Yoda has said it countless times, as has Master Windu and, for sure, Master Obi- Wan: attachment is discouraged, unspokenly forbidden..." Anakin said, frowning as his thoughts turned toward Padme.

Pratt sensed the wayward cognitions of the Padawan, realizing that he could use it to further illustrate his point. "You are concerned, Anakin."

The apprentice was silent, but lifted his eyes from the ground to meet his elder's. The Master allowed a few moments for his inference to sink in.

"I sense much fear in your heart," Pratt said, his tone unaccusing

Anakin shook his head quickly. "No, Master. There is no fear."

The smile that had faded returned to the Jedi's face with great ease. His warm eyes seemed to penetrate Anakin's growingly frantic exterior and jab at the boy's fragile heart.

"Your feelings betray you, young one. I sense the fear that you try to disguise as duty, as professional concern," Pratt said, watching Anakin's response carefully, knowing he was right. "But there is nothing wrong with that. All it serves to do is strengthen your resolve to do your aforementioned duty, Padawan. The Jedi Code has no right to strip you of who and what you are."

Anakin shook his head again. "Fear leads to anger; anger leads to hate; hate leads to..."

"That is an outdated mantra for an era that has come and gone," Pratt interrupted sharply.

For these words, Anakin could formulate no defense. He'd never been faced with an argument of this type, and he was having difficulty taking issue with it. Despite all of Obi-Wan's words and despite all of his training, Anakin found himself reluctantly agreeing with Pratt's assertions. This system had stood for a thousand years, but purpose it should stand as constituted no longer.

Pratt abruptly rose from his chair, breaking Anakin's train of thought. "But it is getting late, my young friend."

"That it is," Anakin replied distantly, not bothering to face the Jedi.

Patting the boy on the shoulder, Pratt made his way to the door. "I will see you in the morning."

The door swished once, then again a moment later, and Anakin knew that he was once more alone. In just a few short minutes with a few dazzling words, everything he knew to be true was suddenly a shade of gray. The Jedi were fundamentally flawed.

* * *

The words that Qui-Gon hadn't finished speaking echoed in his former Padawan's head: "The boy is not the chosen one." If not Anakin, then who? With each day that passed, the Force grew more unbalanced, more unpredictable, more dark – much the same as young Skywalker, Obi-Wan mused.

Then, there were his visions to think of, the images that Qui-Gon said would lead him to the truth. His implicit trust of the man made him believe that they would do just that. He wasn't sure how, though, and the uncertainty was frustrating.

Obi-Wan lowered his head into his dirty hands, stained from grass and dirt. They, in turn, marred his face with the remnants. He didn't seem to care, though, alone with his thoughts, with his worries. As had become habitual for the Jedi, it seemed his only two companions on this eve were the eerie night and the grim specter of death.

He had come to terms with the forbidden nature of things most others lived for – attachment, love, family. The code by which he lived proclaimed these creature comforts too confining, too limiting, too unbecoming of a Jedi Knight. Sometimes, though, alone with his thoughts as he was now, Obi- Wan wondered what it would be like to go to sleep in a warm embrace. How did it feel to know someone cared about you more than anything else in existence? These were all things he figured never to know, but sometimes when it got cold at night or when he felt mentally or spiritually beaten, they would comfort him in the same way a murmuring wife might.

Though he wouldn't admit it to her or to his young Padawan, sometimes those thoughts were accompanied by Padme's image. She was, after all, one of the only women he'd ever felt an emotional attachment to. Seeing her, though, did not serve as any sort of catharsis, but merely pained him further. It only illustrated further the emptiness that a life of duty had left him with. He could never have her, could never be allowed to love her or anyone, unless in secret.

"Master Obi-Wan?" Brummel asked softly as he approached, his voice alerting the Jedi to his presence where his quiet footsteps had failed.

Obi-Wan jerked his head up, his face smudged with the dirt that had escaped his filthy hands. He noted the somewhat timid expression on his counterpart's face, and worked quickly to erase it.

"Have a seat," he offered, gesturing for the second time that night to the vacant plot of land beside him.

Brummel accepted the invitation, sinking down on the grass to the Jedi Master's right. The air was somewhat chilly and the Padawan shivered involuntarily, paying it little mind as he looked upon Obi-Wan's face, the elder Jedi's troubles evident despite the facade he'd spent the last few moments erecting.

"Master, at the risk of overstepping the boundaries of our current rapport, what may I ask is bothering you?" Brummel asked innocently.

Raising a grimy hand to the back of his neck, Obi-Wan massaged the tender flesh while he considered a retort. He needed to say something to quench the young boy's curiosity without revealing too much, without the truth getting out. Long ago, he had perfected his ability to hide such thoughts from those who might scan his mind for things of that nature.

"We live in a dangerous time," Obi-Wan settled for, allowing his gaze to fall back over the unjudging water.

Brummel nodded, glancing at his companion, then attempting to follow his gaze, feeling almost as if he could unmask the true nature of the Jedi's thoughts if he could pinpoint and stare at the same place his elder did.

"That is why we exist; we are the chosen few to bring peace and order to the dangerous galaxy," Brummel said. "We are the line between prosperity and chaos."

Obi-Wan's reply was unexpectedly quick and caught the apprentice off-guard. "And what of those who tire of this role as nepotistic guardian?"

His callous words rocked the Jedi-to-be back a bit. That wasn't the response he had expected, certainly not from the model of consistency Obi-Wan was renowned as. It seemed inconceivable that the Master would ever question his duty, would ever seek more than he was taught to.

For his part, Obi-Wan wished he hadn't said what he said. It was unfair for Brummel to entertain these thoughts at this stage of his training. There would be time to question his life later, if he was so inclined. But, for the moment, it was best that he not be saddled with the same grim doubts as Obi-Wan.

"Master Obi-Wan, are you unhappy with the path that was chosen for you?"

Obi-Wan smirked slightly, closing his eyes, allowing his heavy lids a reprieve from their hard work. "Do you like the water, Brummel?"

"Water?" the boy asked, quite taken aback by the redirection. "I like it fine, Master."

The Jedi opened his eyes and leaned forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the water. He did, and he stared at it a few moments, while Brummel awaited clarification. Both noted the Master's haggard appearance, though it was lessened by the crude nature of the image.

"It is part of our duty to sacrifice euphoria to circumstance," Obi-Wan said. "We are, as such, doomed to an existence listless of complexity... unless we fail to honor the rules that govern us."

Brummel was silent, hoping his quiet would urge him to continue.

"Sometimes, to keep faith in my destiny, I am forced to cheat it," Obi-Wan said, a powerful sense of regret becoming more and more evident with each word. "Without allowing myself the thoughts I sometimes allow myself, I would be unable to perform the duties taken for granted by those I am sworn to protect. And it makes me sick and it makes me sorry that I am not strong enough to live the life I've been asked to."

Obi-Wan's voice became gravelly, betraying the torturous emotion he so often was able to hide. "I seek within an absolution I am both ill-equipped and unwilling to provide myself. But my reflection does not judge me so harshly, for it knows it is an accessory to the wrong I've done, despite how pure it looks against the light of the moon on nights like this."

Seeming to recognize the necessity of an interjection, Brummel did his best to comprehend and extend the Jedi's thought. "And that's why you come to the water like this?"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes again, pushing himself back a bit and looking away. "I don't come to be redeemed, or to make believe my feelings are just. But sometimes, for an instant, I wonder…"

* * *

Chancellor Palpatine glanced back at the young Senator with a small smile. From across the long conference table, which he sat at alone, the young politician could only speculate as to the expression, however, for the room was shrouded in darkness. 

"Senator, I trust that you have no reservations about this?" Palpatine prompted, pacing the room width-wise at the other end of the conference table.

The young Senator was quite adamant in his reply. "Of course not, Chancellor."

This seemed to pacify Palpatine for whatever reason, as his pacing ceased. A few eventless moments passed before he took a seat across from his counterpart.

"But, Chancellor, what if the attempts to... deal with her are unsuccessful?" the young Senator asked, choosing his words carefully, implying nothing.

Palpatine let out a short grunt that hinted at amusement. "Then there will be little time for her to convince her fellow Senators of anything at all while she picks up the pieces of the... most unfortunate tragedy that will command her attention locally."

"And what of the Jedi?" the young Senator asked, seemingly referring to one in particular.

The Chancellor breathed evenly. "He is not as strong as I once thought. He is... expendable. I sense they've discovered as much as well. They are confused, fragile, afraid. Their end draws near."


	6. A Late Night Chat

A/N: Chapter 6 has been given its face-lift.

* * *

Padme was numbed by an unquellable melancholy as she lay awake in bed. The longer she spent away from the rigors of her daily life, the worse things got. While it was nice to be afforded some measure of downtime, the fast-paced nature of her days usually offered her a sort of solace from focusing too long on one thing. Here and now, she had too much time to consider everything.

The Republic was on the brink of war. Of that, she had no doubt. The indentured servantry issue was the business of the moment for the Senate, but it was merely a microcosm of the state of the galaxy as a whole. Peace was tenuous and nearly every session turned volatile. Sometimes, the senators and representatives seemed more like beasts in thin cages than gallant voices of their people. Most of the time even.

War was certainly on the horizon and her hopes of stopping its coming were fading with each day that passed. The Jedi had made it clear that in war, they would be unable to maintain stability. There were a million questions and no answers… except perhaps the answers she fought to avoid.

She wished she could keep herself from worrying so much. There was so much waiting for her when this present matter was resolved that it seemed like she was wasting this opportunity for some degree of relaxation. Padme resolved to do her best to enjoy this time in the company of her Jedi protectors.

Brummel was so very straight-laced, so dutiful. His handsome features were not uptight, so much as they were calm and unassuming. She found his company to be quite pleasant, even if he wasn't as skilled a conversationalist as he was a future Jedi. There was something refreshing about his nature; he took life for what it was and did his best to uphold that which he held so dear in the face of whatever came.

Then, there was Obi-Wan. Somehow, his presence had invigorated her in a capacity well beyond her expectations. Several years had passed since she'd first met him in the midst of the conflict with the Trade Federation. He'd changed some; he was more reserved now than he'd been as a padawan, but it seemed a bit unnatural, as if he'd forced part of who he was into dormancy for the sake of Anakin. Padme had no doubt that he concerned himself with being the perfect example of what a Jedi was to be for the passionate young man.

The senator supposed, irony not lost on her, that Anakin would have been much more fond of the Obi-Wan she'd met those years ago. Still, though, the change was not entirely pervasive. She'd seen amusement in his eyes on a few occasions. There was a mischievous glint, even if it was shrouded by a burdened inner chaos. While the Republic was on the verge of war, it seemed Obi-Wan had long already been at war with himself.

He had certainly grown no less pleasant of appearance or demeanor, only a bit more weary-looking and a bit sadder. She could relate to that. There were times when she looked in the mirror and was surprised to see a young lady. Padme knew they shared that pain... or at least that they could, if he would let them. It was peculiar; Anakin had spent the past several years longing for her, longing for the day they'd reunite. But, while she'd been pleased to see him, she'd found her concern for his Master had trumped any care to reacquaint herself with the young man.

In fact, while she sought any interaction she could with the elder man, she was glad now to have some distance between she and Anakin. There was something terribly unnerving about the obsessive way he seemed to regard her. But that seemed a bit ungrateful. He was risking his life back in Theed attempting to ascertain the identity of those who would see her dead.

Darkness seemed destined to reign before it conceded to the light of day and Padme suddenly felt that her world would never be right so long as she lived.

"M'lady?"

Startled from her reverie by the figure standing in the doorway, the Senator quickly recovered her wits.

"What is it, Brummel?" she asked, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

Padme tried to figure his mood from his expression, but his countenance was as plain as if he were sleeping soundly. She smiled, hoping the friendly gesture might put him at ease. For his part, the padawan smiled back. He wasn't devoid of emotion, merely conservative in how it showed.

"I just wanted to say..."

He stopped mid-sentence like he'd forgotten the words that were meant to follow. The slightest of frowns betrayed his hesitation and Padme tilted her head to the side just a bit. There was something sensitive about what he wanted to say, or perhaps he was just uncomfortable speaking at all.

Whatever the case, she made sure her encouraging smile remained.

"You wanted to say what, Master Jedi?"

Brummel's frown faded into oblivion and was replaced by a twitch that might have passed for a smile on a generous day.

"You flatter a mere learner, Senator," he said.

There was something playful in his voice that she hadn't seen in him before, and she was glad for the change. He seemed comfortable when he said those words and she thought to tease him a bit more.

"Forgive me. Sometimes it is difficult to tell, what with your wise turns of phrase and your mature demeanor," she said slyly.

Brummel's smile widened.

"What will we do with you, Senator?"

There was an amicable pause before the young man spoke again, eyes full of some sweet, gentle resolve.

"I just came to say that I promise to give my life before any harm comes to you."

Padme's expression sobered, but only out of respect for the noble sentiment. It hadn't hampered the moment, but rather only helped to deepen the bond they shared in their newly developing friendship. If he was waiting for her to respond, it didn't show. He seemed ready to turn and leave, but he stopped when she spoke again.

"I believe you, Master Jedi, and I thank you," she said sincerely.

Brummel bowed briefly and offered her a smile's ghost.

"Goodnight, Senator."

She nodded her acknowledgement. "Goodnight, Brummel."

The young man departed and she was alone once more with the depravity of her thoughts. They turned almost instantaneously back to the myriad of concerns that plagued her as a public servant. There was no escaping them, try as she might. It seemed useless at this point to bother. When she was companionless except for the privacy of her own introspective, there was no thought that could rescue her from this torment.

But for one glorious, fleeting moment, it seemed like she was wrong. All foreboding images of potential pain and desolation were sent spiraling into nothingness and replaced by a flicker of Obi-Wan's essence. For just one instant, it was almost as if she experienced his very being instead of ruminations about the bereavement of human life that was so likely to come.

She laid back down in bed and stared at the ceiling. Peculiar indeed, but she wouldn't question any reprieve from the images that so routinely flooded her mind. Her thoughts turned again to these visions of destruction and war, but after a while, everything dropped back into the immense design of things and she fell asleep.

In his room two doors down, Obi-Wan sighed in exasperation as sleep refused to come. He couldn't make sense of a damn thing. It was seldom he slept easy, but on the verge of exhaustion, it was something he coveted very highly just then. There was too much on his mind, though.

It had been abrupt, but he found himself haunted by the ghost of his own ineptitude. He supposed the return to Naboo had understandably conjured up the spirit of he and Qui-Gon's standoff with Darth Maul. He'd never fully recovered from that spiritual ravaging, even with time and scattered unconscious meetings with his Master to heal his wounds.

There were times he wished he wasn't a Jedi, times when he wished he was his own keeper and nothing more, but the thoughts always died rather quickly. It was pointless to think about what could have been, and it was selfish to want out of a life that was dedicated to mediating grievances and preventing conflict, a life of maintaining goodness in places where the innocent couldn't maintain it themselves.

He never tired of helping good people the galaxy over, but one had to deal with so much hatred and disdain in the process. Everywhere he looked, people loathed people and they never had a very good reason. Creatures killed their neighbors over border disputes, desecrated other worlds for their resources, despised other species because they didn't look right.

But in the face of all of this, there was hope. With each of their last breaths, the Jedi would defend truth and justice. He was proud of the man Anakin was becoming, though there was surely still some way to go. He'd grown fond as well of Brummel, the padawan he was just coming to know now. The next generation of Jedi seemed a strong batch and he found comfort in that fact.

The nature surrounding him offered hope as well. No matter how many horrible things people did, flowers never stopped being beautiful. They stood as a monument to the virility of good men's souls and as a voice mocking those who would make war with the sight of what they might have known.

And Padme was still beautiful. He furrowed his brow in confusion at the senator's sly inclusion in that reverie. The Jedi wondered where that had come from. He supposed there was no harm in it; she was, after all, a sight worthy of comment... or comments, plural, for that matter.

She'd changed so much since their last meeting, and yet not at all. Just as he had, she'd aged some and it showed in her tired eyes, but not in any other facet of her appearance. The senator was as kind as ever; he recalled his surprise at finding her by his bedside when he awoke from one of his episodes. And when she'd joined him for those short minutes by the water, he recalled a feeling of contentedness wash over him that he'd not felt in some time... not since she'd grieved with him following Qui-Gon's death. They were the only two times in his life where he'd ever felt like it was acceptable to feel beyond his partnership with the Force.

And as he thought more on her calming person, the sickly Knight slipped into a deep slumber.


	7. Dawn of the Final Day

A/N: Chapter 7 has been given its new look.

* * *

Pratt smiled inwardly as he watched Anakin from across the courtyard. It seemed the padawan was considering what he'd said. At least that's what he gathered from the far-off daze that seemed to so enshroud Anakin just then. Perhaps, though, his thoughts lingered instead on the senator and his Master. The boy's emotions laid out on his sleeves for all to see; perhaps there was still hope for this one. 

He appeared so despondent that Pratt thought for a moment to bridge the gap between them and offer words of encouragement. There was no time for that, though. Tonight, there was business to attend to. Surely, everything would end before the evening was over. He'd see to it himself that this mysterious nonsense was put to rest, one way or another.

Apprehension coursed through his veins and he welcomed it, nurtured the feelings of anxiety that washed over him. There was no shame in being afraid; he'd not suppress it like it had never been. It was senseless babble perpetuated by a Council blinded by its servitude to a Code that needed to be put out of its misery.

"Master Saduj," a voice called from a few steps behind him.

He turned and smiled welcomingly at Captain Panaka, who offered little more than a steely glare in return.

"Good morning, Captain."

"Good morning," the security chief replied tightly. "I hope you don't let time get away from you too much longer."

His words were unexpected and accusatory. It would seem Panaka was disgruntled they'd not pursued the investigation yet this morning. Pratt had only been awake for an hour or so and had finished his breakfast no more than five minutes prior, but nonetheless, he nodded curtly and deadened his previously pleasant expression.

"Of course, Captain. I'd not conceive of waiting any longer. We will begin immediately."

Panaka knew how his words had been received, and it was just as he'd intended them to be. He wanted these Jedi to know that, while they may be revered and offered whatever latitude they sought elsewhere, it was an entirely different matter here and now; the senator's life was at stake and he was ultimately accountable for her well-being.

An uneasy silence passed between the two men and Panaka blinked first, tearing his gaze away and heading calmly back in the direction from which he'd come. Pratt glanced back at Anakin; the boy was still lost in concentration. Surely tonight was the end.

* * *

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, but wished he hadn't. He wasn't ready to face the shining light of day. Squinting, he struggled to sit up in bed. There was no time to wallow in pity concerning his ailing health, though. He felt a sharp stab of guilt over the unspoken charge that Brummel, a mere Padawan, was to carry the brunt of responsibility for Padme's safety.

He vowed to do what he could to pull his weight on this day. It was peculiar how long it was taking to recuperate from his sickness, and it unnerved him a bit. There had never been anything that afflicted him quite as strongly or as long as this. The Force offered no healing remedy and, uncharacteristically, he had to admit in the privacy of his own introspective that he was frightened.

There was something about this day. In the depths of his soul, he could sense that something was very much amiss. He strengthened his resolve to be of more use. His tired mind knew somehow that nothing would ever be the same and he could only pray that it was for the better. He doubted that very much, though

Obi-Wan rose caustically from the bed and made sure of his footing before he took a step. He took a few moments and then stepped out of his room and sauntered into the common area of the small house. Padme sat contentedly on a simple white couch, attending to what the Jedi presumed to be the remnants of the breakfast he woke too late for.

"Good morning, Obi-Wan," she offered between greedy bites.

"Yes, I can see that it is for you," he replied teasingly.

Padme's face hinted at a smile. "Would you have a senator go hungry, Jedi?"

Obi-Wan's features warmed over at the smile that threatened the senator's face and his eyes betrayed his fondness, if only for a few moments.

"I'd never dream of it, m'lady."

"See that that doesn't change, Master Kenobi."

An easy grin enveloped Padme's features and Obi-Wan was powerless not to return it. They just looked at one another, their grins not fading as moments piled on top of moments until they forgot their own names.

"I've missed you these past few years," Padme offered absently, breaking his gaze and staring off into some unseen distance.

Obi-Wan's grin gave way to a forced neutral expression. He took a clumsy step toward the couch, then another. She returned her eyes to his, desperately searching for some sort of understanding in his optics that she herself didn't have. Confusion consumed her, the source of which stood before her with no apparent answers.

He took still another step closer until he was hovering above her. Her familiar floral scent reached him in the next instant and he happily took a breath. This shouldn't have been happening. There was no precedent for him to be so intoxicated by the senator. And yet, the moment the thought crossed his mind, he knew it was a lie.

A smaller, softer hand than his own gripped his forearm and guided him onto the couch. There was a sadness in her eyes, a melancholy so tangible, he thought for a moment he might be able to choke the life out of it.

"Do you remember the garden, m'lady?" he asked.

Padme smiled at the bittersweet recollection. As the memories of the encounter came flooding back, she realized how absurd it was, the formality with which they'd addressed each other. An eternal familiarity had been born that night in the wake of her people's victory and the Jedi's travesty.

"I remember."

The emotion was thick in her voice and Obi-Wan knew that night meant as much to her as it had to him. They'd shed titles and responsibilities and replaced them with friendship and compassion. It didn't last, though, just as they knew it wouldn't. But for those brief hours, burdens were shared and mountains could be climbed. In a way, that had lasted.

He'd never paid the memory the mind that it craved, but somehow, it was always there for him in his darkest moments. Looking at her now, he knew the same was true of her. Just by watching the emotions jockeying for position on her kind face, he could see the time they shared playing in her mind's eye.

"Padme..." he whispered, leaning in so slightly that nobody but the two of them could have noticed.

The senator reached for one of his hands and he readily relinquished it to her. He leaned closer, this time more noticeably, until there weren't more than six or eight inches between them.

"Padme... there is something very wrong with this day..." he said, his breath hot against her unflinching face. "Today scares me like nothing's scared me before. I fear nothing will be the same again."

She let go of his hand, reaching up and laying both her palms on his bearded face. "I suppose it won't."

Obi-Wan erased the remaining gap between them and pressed his lips against hers tentatively, like he'd never done it before. She reciprocated the gesture for several moments, and when they parted, Padme pulled his head forward until their foreheads met. Peace filled the Jedi's chest.

* * *

Mace leveled his eyes on Eeth Kooth, who sat immobile on the far side of the room with closed eyes. To the casual onlooker, he might appear peaceful, but there was something very foreboding about his posture.

"I fear we have all lost focus," the lanky, dark-skinned man intoned grimly. "I fear the future we've been wary of for so long is soon to be the present."

Yoda emitted an agreeing rumble from deep in his throat, but was silent. He too sensed the preoccupation that permeated the walls of the Jedi Temple. For the first time in several hundred years, the venerable Council figurehead felt real fright, but more than that, astonishment.

"Monumental this day is," the green-shaded creature muttered enigmatically.

Mace raised an eyebrow and stole his gaze away from Kooth. "You have seen it?"

"Clouded the future of this day is; no telling how it will end," the diminutive man elaborated. "Conflicted visions, I have seen. Strange proclamations have men made."

"Proclamations, Master Yoda?"

Yoda craned his neck to look at his fellow Councilman. In all their years together, neither had seen such uncertainty in the other's eyes as they did just then.

"The chosen one, Skywalker is not. Great suffering will there be. One hope there is."

Mace's breathing tightened as he processed these words. "Who?"

"I cannot say."

* * *

The young senator's clasped hands lay on the table before him, his lips twitching as if they were being restrained.

"They are weak right now, Chancellor," the ambitious politician said coolly. "We can crush them with our blunt instruments."

Palpatine sat back in his chair, mulling over his pupil's words.

"Their weakness is plain, their calm shaken."

"I'd not foreseen the opportunity, Chancellor," the young man replied. "But if the Jedi Order is truly as confused, disillusioned, and fearful as you've said, then let us validate their fears with action!"

Palpatine smiled at the demonic vehemence behind the senator's words. It was rare to encounter someone who seemed to share his passion for desecration and his lust for control, but this man certainly qualified. He steepled his hands and nodded slowly.

"We will call on our new force and overwhelm them," the Chancellor said, looking very directly at his cohort.

There was something in his eyes that made even the young senator's blood turn to ice. It never showed in his demeanor, though. His eyes were steady, his expression dispassionate.

"They know nothing of the clone army lying in wait," the senator said confidently. "The Separatist movement will be entirely inconsequential by tomorrow's end, and the Jedi will be extinguished."

There was a pause as both admired how very perfectly everything was falling into place. Soon, they would no longer have to scheme, but rather, directly force the galaxy to bend to their will.

"Chancellor..." the senator said curiously. "What has brought on this chaos amongst the Jedi?"

Palpatine's lips split into a fiendishly ecstatic smile. "Their chosen one is as ordinary as the rest of them. The prophecy is disintegrating before their eyes. Their era is ending."


	8. The Gathering Storm

A/N: Yeah, so, apparently I just randomly update this once a year, but with Episode III coming out, I had renewed vigor to return to this story and am feeling it right now. So, let me know what you think, if you wanna see it continued. Let me know the good, the bad, etc. All remarks are welcome. There will be plenty of Obi-Wan/Padme and action to come. Trying to build to the action so that it's "earned," if that makes sense, rather than the story just _being_ the action. Anyways, let me know thoughts.

Apologies if the text runs together. I'm having all kinds of trouble with this editor. I'll try and take a look tomorrow and see if it's still mucked up. If so, I'll just break things up into small chapters for easier reading.

* * *

Obi-Wan sighed uneasily as he looked out over the horizon. His visions, once distant and vague, were crystallized in his sleep the night prior. It was all to end today. There was no more looking ahead to tomorrow because tomorrow might not exist at all. He folded his arms across his chest, thinking back over his life, wondering if it had really meant anything. 

As a boy, he'd been plucked out of his home and told to love a new man as his father. No, not love. They'd denied him that, forcing on him a lacking spiritual bond that was something just short of love. But in the end, they hadn't denied him that as they'd hoped to, he knew. Obi-Wan had loved Qui-Gon. The man had been his father, plain and simple. No one could take that away. He couldn't quite ascertain why, but he knew in his heart that it was the strength of the love he felt for Qui-Gon that had made it possible for him to come to Obi-Wan in his incorporeal form and warn him of what was to come. Change was imminent, the end of all he knew as he knew it.

"Master Kenobi?"

The Jedi, lost in his musings, hadn't seen his young companion's approach and twitched in surprise. Brummel smiled an apology.

"How are you feeling?"

Obi-Wan turned his gaze back to the sky.

"I feel..." He paused. "I feel like the calm of nature is deceiving on this day."

"I've felt it too, Master," the boy replied softly. "I've seen things I wish I could erase."

Obi-Wan turned sharply at that, his interest piqued. The young padawan had himself seen a vision. He had sensed the Force was strong in Brummel, but he had never conceived that it was present in him or that he could have such control over it at this stage of his development.

"What is it you've seen?"

Brummel looked away, taking a deep breath and letting it out to the count of five.

"I've seen a battle the likes of which I can scarcely fathom," he said. "I've seen Theed ablaze and I've seen thousands upon thousands of Jedi fighting hopelessly against an enemy that outnumbers them five to one. I've seen you and I, side by side, sharing a knowing glance that it's all but over."

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair, leaning forward and bracing himself against the wooden railing in front of them.

"Do you believe these images to be clairvoyance or fear?"

He knew the answer before he asked it, but Brummel paused as if he wasn't quite as sure. Holding himself up with his forearm against the railing in just the same way as the Jedi Master, he shut his eyes as if to reacquaint himself with what he'd seen.

"I believe..." He opened them again and faced Obi-Wan. "I believe, Master, that this is going to be a very long day."

They looked out over the horizon and felt the Force surge through them with jarring earnest. The future was coming.

* * *

Anakin chewed on the inside of his cheek as he tried to sort through his dream. No, it had been more than a dream. Trust your feelings, Obi-Wan had always told him. He would do just that. He shut his eyes and replayed the vision again and again, forcing upon himself an acquaintance with the gruesome subtleties, a familiarity with every last detail. An army of hundreds of thousands winding in and out as far as the eye could see, score after score of identical soldiers with no conscience to speak of and a penchant for ending lives in the most brutal of manners. He saw ships swarming around Naboo, more ships than he'd ever seen assembled in one area of space before. Armageddon would be waged today on this battlefield and he feared the Jedi were to lose. It wasn't just the Jedi that would fall, though. It would be civilization as it was presently known, the Republic. Who were these hellions that war would be waged against, though? From where did they come and to whom were they loyal? 

His thoughts were interrupted by a flash of fresh images. They were going too fast, though. He couldn't make out a single one. With a frustrated groan, he squeezed his eyes shut. Trust your feelings, Obi-Wan had always told him. He would do just that. His master's words imbued him with a calm resolve and he reached out to the Force to retrieve the images it had just shown him. He breathed in and out, slowly, placidly, and then he waited.

His patience was rewarded. The images slowed and played out at a speed he could handle. Part of him wished they hadn't.

It was Pratt, locked away in some dark palace corner that he didn't recognize, so remote he wondered if its architect would even be able to find it. He spoke softly, discreetly to someone he couldn't see in the darkness. Anakin focused on the words. He had to hear the words.

"Are you certain this wise, my Lord?"

My Lord. Perhaps he was speaking to the Council. But why we he shroud himself in darkness to make contact with the elders at the Temple? It struck him then that he'd never heard anyone addressed in that manner before. "My Lord" was certainly a peculiar moniker for a Jedi. His stomach twisted in knots as the realization of what this meant settled in. It couldn't be. Not this kind, noble man he'd come to know these past few days. What would his motivation be? Why would he turn his back on the Code he so adored? As he thought back on their conversations, though, it occurred to him he didn't adore that Code at all. In fact, that was the reason Anakin had been so taken by him. Pratt's words had offered him a reprieve from responsibility, a shortcut. He felt sick now that he'd been taken in by the charismatic Jedi.

"Why now, my Lord? Why here?"

And then, Anakin could finally make out the other voice and the hologram from which it was uttered. A deep, almost inhuman brogue coming from the mouth of a man barely visible inside a heavy black cloak. He knew that voice.

"Surely you've felt it, Master Saduj," the voice said. "The Force flows through Naboo with vigor that none have seen before. It could barely be anticipated and it can scarcely be explained, but this has become much bigger than a play for power, much bigger than eliminating one single Senator and trapping young Skywalker. The Force calls us to Naboo to wage the decisive war in the history of existence itself. Surely you feel it in your bones, Master Saduj. The army approaches. Soon will the Jedi as well. And you and I and those who fight beside us will rule this galaxy and eradicate the Jedi scourge. There will be no one left to stop us after this day. Be prepared for the reckoning."

Anakin cried out in agony, crumpling to the ground as his earlier images of war, now rich with their context, flooded his mind again. His eyes slipped shut, but he managed to find enough focus to utter one word through the Force to his Master: "Palpatine."

* * *

"Master Yoda!" Mace called, walking briskly to join his short friend by the window. 

The venerable green Jedi did not turn to look at him and did not look especially surprised or unsettled, much in contrast to his dark-skinned companion, whose disconcerted demeanor was a rare sight. He was usually so in control, but he couldn't have appeared to have less just then.

"Yes, Master Windu. Felt it as well, I have," Yoda said neutrally. "Begun it has."

"But what _is_ it, Master?"

Yoda shut his eyes. "The battle to decide the course of the Force."

Mace frowned, his forehead creasing as he fought to grasp that notion.

"Master Yoda, do you realize what you're saying? The Force governs us all. How can _we_ decide its course?"

A few seconds passed and Mace wondered if his friend had heard him. When Yoda did reply, his voice bore a wonder that he'd never heard in it before.

"For centuries, Master Windu, served the Force we have in the way we were called to. Followed its will as best we could have we to preserve tranquility and goodness throughout the galaxy. Now, call on us to do something more it does. Left our fate in our own hands has the Force. Decide its future we will."

There was a brief pause.

"Chancellor Palpatine and half of the Senate have departed Coruscant," Mace said. "Word has come from Master Lanur on Timoria that there is a massive convoy on course to Naboo."

"Yes," Yoda replied. "Follow we will."

"The Force calls us there. Of this much, I am certain."

Yoda nodded. "Yes, as well am I."

"But why has Chancellor Palpatine amassed this army? Why would he shatter the Republic as he seems fixed to?"

For this, Yoda could presently provide no answer.

"Recall all Jedi off world we will. Assemble the entire Order on Naboo we shall."

"What of the children?" Mace asked gravely. "What of those too young for battle?"

Yoda's ears twitched as he considered the question. The thought had not occurred to him. They could not leave these children by their lonesome, defenseless, here for the vultures to scoop up and bloody after they'd obliterated the Jedi Order. If the Order fell today on the fields of Naboo, then these children would be the only hope left for a resurgance of goodness. Even then, the odds were slim. They would be chased down wherever they were or went, made to pay for the gift the Force had given them, made to pay for the Order's attempts to cultivate that gift.

"Whatever happens on Naboo today, survive they must," Yoda said, his voice almost a whisper. "And whatever happens on Naboo today, survive must a Jedi Master to complete their training."

Mace nodded, Yoda's calm quelling some of the fear that he had unwittingly allowed to creep into his heart.

"Master Yoda, there is only man that can be entrusted with that task."

The diminutive Jedi sighed. "Yes."

"I will lead the Jedi in battle."

Yoda nodded sadly. Frustration threatened his coolness as he thought about hiding while the fate of the Force was decided lightyears away. He knew it was the right thing, though, taking the children into hiding so that there was some slim hope of fighting another day if the Order should fall.

"A dark day this is, old friend," Yoda said, staring out at the unknowing inhabitants of Coruscant.

Mace followed his gaze with grim determination.

"We did not seek this day, but we will fight, and we will not fail."

* * *

The young senator looked out over the mammoth assembly of clones. There must have been 25,000 troops there, each docile and patient, but ready on their commander's order to unleash hell and kill anything and everything that moved. The site of such mindless fidelity empowered him to a degree he'd never before felt. His own loyalty to Chancellor Palpatine would at long last be rewarded. After today's battle, he would be given free reign over his own corner of the galaxy. He would decide the fate of millions of subjects. 

"Are you impressed by what you see?"

Palpatine's voice startled him out of his reverie, filled him with an unease he couldn't quite place. For all his fantisizing, the young senator was scared to his wit's end up by the Chancellor and the supernatural powers that he could and had summoned before. Perhaps it was just that for the first time, he actually understood what it was that was happening today. The end was coming, and though he spared no love for the Jedi Order, he wondered about the fate of the galaxy without them to balance out the hatred and greed that he was helping to spread. What would become of things without nobility to counterbalance the Chancellor's demonic zeal?

"Your thoughts betray you," Palpatine replied with a confection of amusement and disdain. "Perhaps you feel you've chosen the wrong side in this conflict? Perhaps you would feel better standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Master Kenobi, Senator."

The young senator blanched at that.

"No, Chancellor. The idle musings of a fool is all that was. You have my committment on this day and all others."

Palpatine's response was little more than an eerie smirk and a faint gutteral exclamation that couldn't be mistaken for words.

"I'm told there are one-hundred thousand troops on route to Naboo to support the Jedi," the senator offered softly, caustic now of the tone he took with the Sith Lord. "Perhaps there is more resistance to be mounted than we first surmised."

The Chancellor laughed at that, a loud, rumbling, sinister laugh that stole from the air whatever small measure of mirth it had once contained.

"My dear senator, the vast majority of the Republic has no idea what is to come. By the time they have the faintest clue, we will have captured Naboo and destroyed the Jedi, and erected our new capital in Theed, from which I will rule with the Force pumping in and out of my veins. The galaxy will be in such disarray and we will have struck such fear into the hearts and minds of everyone within the Republic that there will be no organized opposition. And by this time next year, we will have enough clones that to destroy the faintest hope of turning back the tide of darkness that will roll over every living thing in this galaxy."

The young senator shuddered.

"It will be a great day, Chancellor."

* * *

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut as the deep, booming pain of his vision rattled through his head. One word and Anakin's prone body -- Palpatine. Through the pain shone elucidation. He'd never trusted the Chancellor, not for a single second, and he'd always wished Anakin had rebuked the politician's efforts to take him under his wing. Now his failure to be more insistent about his gut instinct could shatter irrevocably the Jedi Order and the Republic. But while he had never trusted Palpatine, he had never in his wildest dreams supposed the man a Sith, presumably the master of the man who'd slayed his master less than a decade prior. Still, though, that had been the insistence lacing Anakin's one-word message -- a very distinct image of a black-cloaked fiend. 

Brummel knelt beside the downed Jedi, supporting his neck with a fulcrum of hand.

"Master Kenobi!" he exclaimed. "Master, are you all right? What's happening?"

His words drifted in and out of Obi-Wan's mind, always there but never quite clear enough to get through. Obi-Wan couldn't find the strength to respond just yet, immersed still in the pain of his padawan and in his own. The Force was strong here, overpowering. It was his failure to harness the energy the Force was infusing him with that had made him ill since his arrival, he figured. But then, why had Brummel not been stricken with illness as a result of his own visions? The Force was so strong here that Qui-Gon had been able to manifest himself to his former padawan, and he remembered his master's words -- Anakin was not the chosen one. Who then was? Or was that prophecy merely lost to the wind? Perhaps the chosen one had not yet _been_ chosen.

"Master!"

Brummel's words finally found a niche in Obi-Wan's brain and settled in. The Jedi's eyes opened in concert with several shaky breaths.

"Brummel," he whispered, gesturing laxly for the padawan to lean in closer.

The young man complied, drawing Obi-Wan's head toward his ear and meeting him halfway.

"Padme," he growled hoarsely.

Brummel pulled back momentarily and with his countenance conveyed to the Master his confusion.

"I don't understand."

Obi-Wan's voice rose with his insistance.

"Padme!"

Brummel shook his head in frustration, obviously failing to make whatever connection his elder had hoped he would. The last exclamation seemed to have sapped the last of Obi-Wan's strength, for his eyes fluttered shut and his body went limp. Brummel felt a hundred years old as the fate of the galaxy seemed to pile on his back. They were coming and without Obi-Wan to calm him with words and a conscious presence, he felt panic rise in him for the first time he could remember.

"Padme!" the padawan shouted. "Padme!"

He just kept shouting.


	9. Obi Wan's Vision

A bone-chilling fear took hold of Padme as she heard her name cried desperately by the man she'd come to regard as unflappable. Dozens of possibilities lined up and took their shot at her, and she didn't care for any of them one bit. They'd been discovered or they soon would be or the young padawan had injured himself or Obi-Wan had succumbed to illness once more. It was that last thought which most unnerved her.

Her book was quickly forgotten, discarded onto the floor, and she rushed out of her room, through the corridor and common room and out onto the porch, where Brummel, his stoic resolve traded in for hysteria, cradled Obi-Wan as if he were dead. Her breath caught in her throat at the possibility and she sank to her knees, pressing two fingers to the side of Obi-Wan's neck, rejoicing when she found an irregular, but not altogether alarming pulse.

She took a moment to thank the Force and any other metaphysical entity that may have contributed to Obi-Wan's continued living, then turned her eyes on Brummel, whose own breathing was much more labored than that of the Jedi Master. Padme leaned in, laying a hand on his face to demand kindly his attention. He looked in her eyes, then slowly brought them into focus.

"Senator."

She smiled tentatively, an anemic one managed with the hope that it might be enough to calm her disheveled friend.

"What happened, Brummel?"

That seemed to be the question of the hour, for it was one that apparently took some thought, given the deep concentration the padawan seemed immersed in. She took a long look at him and for the first time, she realized that for all his maturity and valor and what she perceived to be the brightness of his future, he was still a twenty year-old boy in desperate need of the guidance he deserved. In his arms lay the one man who could provide it to him.

"I..." Brummel replied tentatively. "I think... Master Obi-Wan was struck by another vision, but of what, I'm not certain."

Padme looked at Obi-Wan's face, which alternated between a grimace and peace like it was some bizarre timeshare. She lay her hand on his forehead, smoothing the creases with her thumb until they disappeared.

"Did he say anything?" she asked softly.

Brummel watched her touch the Jedi's face with a tenderness and intimacy she obviously felt no shame for. He'd sensed a connection between the two that went beyond professionalism and friendship, and the look in her eyes confirmed it. Obi-Wan had spoken of how sacrifice had left him weary and longing. He'd confided the endless war between duty and humanity that was waged in his gut, in his mind, in his heart. He felt at a loss to explain it, but as he sought communion with the Force on those musings, there was none of the pull he'd suspected toward dissuading Obi-Wan and Padme of their affections. For the first time he could remember, the Force felt neutral. He sighed and turned his attention back to the senator.

"He repeated your name, as if there were something terribly urgent to be said or done," Brummel said, his voice regaining the confidence it had briefly misplaced. "M'lady, I fear we're all in imminent danger. Every fiber in my being says that the war to end all wars will be fought on Naboo, and it will be fought here today. I fear we mustn't remain. We must find for you a place that you will be safe through the battle's end." He paused and looked away. "Or perhaps for much longer than that."

It was Padme now who looked away. She wanted to deny outright her friend's suppositions, but Obi-Wan's remarks from earlier looped in her head. He'd said that this day scared him, that when it ended, nothing would ever be the same. She'd hoped his words had been confined to their relationship, but it seemed their intimate moment had happened against the backdrop of something much more sinister than she could expect presently to comprehend. This was all too much, so vague and overwhelming that when a wave of dizziness struck her, she laid down on the oak porch and fought futilely to control her breathing.

"Brummel, what... what's... happening? I... I... I don't understand. How... how do you know? You're wrong. You... you have to be. I... don't understand..."

She trailed off, taking ragged, panicked breaths as she thought of war ravaging her world once more, of her dear Obi-Wan and Brummel going into battle and meeting certain death head-on as she knew they would. Obi-Wan was in no condition to fight the decisive battle, remaining conscious a daunting enough task for him just now. Her people would suffer greatly on this day. Of that, she had no doubt. And looking in the padawan's solemn eyes, she knew his people would suffer as well. It was all happening so fast. The Jedi had come to protect her from some unknown commodity. Just her. One single life. And somehow, in the span of two days, the political hotbed that had been the issue of indentured servantry was obsolete. Brummell and Obi-Wan's words had thus far been cryptic, but they'd made clear the epic proportions of the brewing storm that would touch down on Naboo today. Suddenly it didn't matter whether or not she got enough vacation time or whether Senator Parsons was prone to fillibustering. It didn't matter if Anakin's smothering gaze disconcerted her or if she was frustrated about going into hiding. It didn't matter whether or not Obi-Wan loved her or her him...

No. No, it did matter. In fact, it was the only thing that did. If their last moments were to come today, then she was no longer going to be shackled by duty, by that obnoxious voice which admonished her when she sought even the briefest of reprieves or the smallest of creature comforts. She loved him. She knew she did. It had happened quickly, and yet it hadn't happened quickly at all. It had begun one lonesome night in the wake of a costly victory and it had matured through the years when they were apart, always there but never known, locked somewhere they never dared to look for the sake of their obligations, rediscovered and at long last accepted in their present seclusion. If this was her final day, she would love him in a way no human had ever loved another because for all that they'd given and refused to take, she deserved him and he deserved her. That thought calmed her, and when Brummel gently reliniquished his hold on Obi-Wan and helped her to sit back up, the tears of confusion and fear that had been welling up in her eyes came back from whence they came and she offered the Jedi-to-be an embarrassed smile.

"I'm sorry," Padme said. "But _what_ is coming? _Who_ is coming?"

Brummel's hand reminded on her back, and though she didn't notice, it was he who held her up.

"I don't know," he replied gently, rubbing her shoulder now in smooth circles. "All I know is that Naboo has become the nexus of the Force, and that it will bring the Order here to confront the apocalypse."

She sighed in frustration and stood up, shrugging off Brummell's hand as he tried to help her. He tried a second time to lay a placating hand on her shoulder, and this time, she slapped it away violently.

"Don't touch me!" she hissed. "I'm sick to death of you Jedi and your cryptic bullshit! You have your ominous messages that don't make a single bit of sense and then you think you can just rearrange the galaxy however you like. Well, I'm not going to put up with it anymore! You say 'the war of wars will be fought today.' I ask you why. 'Because the Force says so.' You know what, Brummel? I think your Force is a bunch of crap and I think you're delusional. Nothing's going to happen today. The sun's going to set and the moon's going to shine and I'm going to go to bed and nothing's going to have changed one damn bit!"

Through her tirade, Brummel's face remain neutral, unaffected. That served only to frustrate her more. She waited for him to say something and the fury in her eyes was inflamed when he failed to do so.

"Well, say something for yourself!"

He looked back at her calmly. "What would you have me say, m'lady?"

Padme sighed. She was being completely unreasonable, of course. The past several minutes had been an emotional rollercoaster, as she and the padawan traded brief mental breakdowns and moments of introspection. She regretted already her harsh recrimination of Brummel, this noble boy who had shown her nothing but kindness and who had promised to lay down his life for her. It was the nature of their spirituality that they could only find in the Force snippets of their future. How unfair it was of her to chastise him because his vision hadn't been clear enough for her taste. He said danger and ruin were coming. She believed him.

"Say nothing, Master Jedi," she whispered. "You owe me nothing at all."

"Padme."

So faint it might as well have been the wind. But it wasn't. The voice belonged to Obi-Wan, forgotten amidst the senator's diatribe. She dropped quickly to her knees beside him on one side, Brummel squatting down next to him on the other. His eyes needed a moment to readjust to the rays of the unconcealed sun. He reached a clumsy hand up toward his eyes, but missed the mark and left it to rest against his forehead. Brummell took hold of the Jedi and hauled him up into a sitting position, from which he lazily reached out for Padme, who gladly accepted his weight against her. His skin, not long prior the pallor of a ghost, had regained some of its color.

"Padme," he whispered hoarsely.

She smiled, turning his head so that he could see her eyes.

"Right here," she said, running her hand through his hair a single time, then leaving it to rest on the back of his head. "What is it, Obi-Wan?"

His breathing evened out and he shut his eyes again, allowing himself to focus briefly on the feel of her hand supporting his head. A part of him resolved never to move again, whether his life lasted only through this day or for another hundred years. The other part felt obligated to answer her.

"Padme, it's Chancellor Palpatine," he said softly, opening his eyes and recapturing her gaze. "He's the Sith, the dark side of the Force. He's coming. He's coming and if we don't stop him, no one ever will."

She shook her head at that, unbelieving.

"Obi-Wan, no. What are you saying? The entire Order has encountered him in some capacity. Wouldn't you have been able to sense it?"

Brummel, seemingly forgotten, chose that moment to reacquaint them with his presence.

"The dark side is elusive, m'lady, more evasive than anything that's ever been. Masters of subterfuge, the Sith are."

Obi-Wan nodded weakly, turning his head against Padme's hand so that her palm cupped his cheek.

"Anakin," he said. "Anakin saw it and he showed it to me. He's in grave danger. I have to get to Theed. I have to get to him before it all begins."

Brummel shook his head, laying a hand on the Master's shoulder.

"No, Master Kenobi," he said. "Master Saduj and he will be well able to take care of themselves."

Several moments passed before realization dawned in Obi-Wan's eyes and he nodded slowly.

"We'll prepare here," he agreed wearily. "We'll prepare here, and then the two of you are going to seek out some dark corner where they'll never find you."

Padme would have voiced her dissent, but she was too busy silencing the sobs that threatened to burst from her chest. Her tears fell into Obi-Wan's hair, absorbed there and made a part of him forever. Brummel frowned. It was coming.


	10. Melancholy Musings

A/N: Thanks for the kind reviews. We'll see fairly soon if you guys end up liking where I'm going with this, I guess. As far as whether Obi-Wan is aware of Saduj's consortship with Palpatine, I went back and rearead what I wrote of Obi-Wan's reaction to Anakin's vision and I agree that it was unclear. Then I tried to remember if I was going for ambiguity. I'd like to pretend I was, but I wasn't. Obi-Wan was able to discern from Anakin only the word "Palpatine" and the image of his cloaked hologram. From there, our genius Master Kenobi just sort of put two-and-two together, assuming he also sensed Anakin's pain and foreboding. Anyways, on with things here. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

Mace steepled his hands, leaning back in his seat as he watched the stars fly by like the unraveling of some endless thread. That wasn't so different from the way he'd always viewed the Force -- an endless thread unraveling from the fabric of existence. He shut his eyes and thought further on the matter, wondering why man's clearest thinking always preceded its most irrational of actions -- the destruction of itself. Mace had not been a perfect man, certainly not a perfect Jedi. But for all he'd done wrong, he'd never once subverted the Force or its will purposefully. He had been so loyal to that cosmic commodity to which all life was in debt. 

For the first time, though, he found himself doubting the Force. If Yoda was correct, they'd been used as pawns, then left out to dry in the darkest hour. Rivers of blood would be shed by angels and bastards. Men's fath and character would tremble and be tested. If the Jedi were to fall, he wanted to be nowhere but on the frontline, but the responsibility weighed heavily on him. It struck him then that there had been occasions where he'd wished the Force hadn't been so dead-set on its preferred paths. He wished now that it hadn't obliged that call.

Beside him, Kooth was lost in his own musings, filtering the stars through his own analogies, making peace with the Force in his own way. Mace stood and crossed the room in several long strides, staring out another larger window that gave the stars a greater sense of both grandeur and foreboding. Every star they passed brought them closer to the cataclysm.

A few minutes passed, and then he felt his friend cross the room to join him. Kooth studied him briefly before turning his attention back to the vastness of space.

"I feel the Force grow stronger in me with each lightyear."

Mace nodded mutely.

"I thought for sure the boy was the chosen one."

Neither said anything for a time and Kooth wasn't surprised by that, nor was he expecting his friend to reply. Their relationship through the years was one nurtured by subtlety and silent understandings, short answers and dangling meanings. Mace surprised him when he broke with tradition.

"We were all blind to the change that has been building."

Kooth searched his eyes, but found nothing.

"What change, Mace?"

"A change in the will of the Force," he replied distantly. "The end of prophecy and the beginning of something much different."

"But what?"

Mace turned and met his eyes a moment, finding no emotion there just as he'd expected. He looked back at the stars.

"The era of prosperity," he said. "Or the area of darkness."

Several minutes passed, each lost once more in their own thoughts. When Kooth spoke again, there was an edge in his voice that neither had ever heard.

"Our estimates place the Chancellor's dispatch well over 1.2 million. And once he secures Naboo and eliminates the Jedi..."

Mace waited for him to finish the thought, and when he didn't, the dark-skinned Councilman prodded him.

"... and once he secures Naboo...?"

Kooth frowned. "I thought for sure you'd heard. The report came in an hour ago from one of our operatives in the Outer Rim."

"I was meditating," Mace replied coolly. "What of this report?"

His friend had not expected to be the one to provide him with this latest piece of news, nor did he want to be.

"We have unconfirmed accounts from third-hand sources. These figures could be incorrect. There is still hope that -"

Mace bowed his head. "Tell me."

Kooth watched him for a moment, then looked away.

"There's word that Palpatine will have as many as thirty million clones inside of the next six months."

The figure staggered Mace, who had been sufficiently in awe of the 1.2 million he'd raised for today's battle. The Jedi and those who fought with them truly were the galaxy's last hope. He felt a wave of frustration hit him as he thought about all of the diplomats he'd spoken to from countless worlds all over the Republic today. Some dismissed his call for armed forces, implying today's conflict was a mirage of the paranoid Jedi Order. Some had declined, declaring neutrality under the guise that it wasn't sufficient cause to sacrifice the lives of their people. What they failed to understand was that if Palpatine prevailed today, their people would die in droves under far less noble circumstances. Some had declared their loyalty to their Chancellor and committed troops toward that end -- all told, another million men probably, pushing Palpatine's military strength past a mark of 2.2 million.

The only support the Jedi had garnered thus far had been in the form of 150,000 men from Kaveet, Timoria, and Corinthius. While all three had formidable and well-trained ground forces, their space-faring might would be vastly inferior to that at the call of Palpatine. And though the ground forces were far beyond competent, such a disparity in numbers spelled their end before they even arrived on Naboo. They would be forced into guerilla warfare no doubt, into tactics they would take no pride in. Such was the savagery of war, though, and while they had wished at all costs to avoid it, the Force was rather inisistent.

When Mace spoke, his voice was a quiet confection of disbelief and regret.

"How was he able to keep these clones a secret?" he asked. "How could we not sense what was coming, or sense the Chancellor's dark heart?"

Kooth didn't reply, just as Mace did not expect him to. Silence reigned once more. Five minutes passed, then ten, then twenty. The door opened behind them, but neither could tear their gaze from the stars.

"Do you bring news?"

The young courier in the doorway couldn't tell which man had asked, a fact which in itself unnerved him. He was intimidated enough by these men already. All Jedi made him uneasy, but to that their status as Councilmen and he was terrified. If the sixteen year-old padawan he'd encountered down the corridor could read his thoughts, then he couldn't even imagine how far into his head these two could. He found solace, though, in recalling that he was here to deliver a meager bit of good news.

"Yes, sir," the courier said. "Word just came from Alderaan. They're sending forty-thousand men. They should arrive not long after us. And from Lacuvus, I've just received Senator Parsons' assurance that he will provide anything you deem necessary."

This was strange news, but not welcome. While Alderaan's military was not known at all for its might, it had grown slightly more competent in recent years. If nothing else, the men would fill space and provide the illusion of strength where there may be none. Parsons had always been a man concerned with his image, voting along party lines. His assistance surprised Mace. When the going got tough now, though, he was one of the few who was standing stock-still to meet it. Lacuvus, while not having much to offer in the way of man-power on the ground, was always on the cutting edge of technological innovation. Their fleet of space-going vessells were the most heavily equipped in the entire Republic. At the least, they would provide a lengthy distraction in the dead of space while the ground war was waged on Naboo.

"Thank you," Kooth replied quietly.

The courier turned to leave.

"May the Force be with you."

He stopped and turned around, unsure of who had said it. Whoever it was, he smiled a moment, then nodded and left the room.

Mace looked at his friend, noting the indecision in his eyes.

"Your thoughts linger on Skywalker."

Kooth nodded. "He was to be the chosen one. But what now, who?"

Mace's gaze lingered just as Kooth's thoughts did. He searched his eyes for something. Whether he found it or didn't, he waited a beat and then looked away.

"The future is no longer written. Our destiny is ours to make. The chosen one will be the Jedi whose mettle defies reason."

The storm was five hours away. Neither spoke another word. They watched the stars unravel.

* * *

Padme leaned her head against the door, sighing at her love's stubborn insistance. He'd gone into the lavatory and shut the door, telling her in rather direct terms to pack herself a bag of necessities and join Brummell on the porch. Naturally, her own stubborn insistance had surfaced and she stood defiantly now on the other side of the wood partition between them. If he thought he could just send her on her way to hide from whatever was to come, then he had another thing coming to him. If he thought he could make her leave him to the wolves, then he had another thing coming to him. If he thought preserving her at the expense of himself was an acceptable game plan, then Force help him because he had another thing coming to him. 

When she spoke, her voice was soft, coaxing, her words spoken in a way that she knew (for it was not long earlier that he confessed) struck him to his very core.

"Obi-Wan."

When he didn't reply, she knew it was working.

"Obi-Wan, why don't you come out here and lie down for a little bit? You can just lay down for a little while and then we'll go find a place where no will get to us -- all three of us, we'll all go."

Still nothing. She started to doubt her methodology. As she plotted her next move, though, the door opened and she slid toward the ground, caught mere inches from the floor by the startled Jedi. He hauled her to her feet and steadied her, then looked down on her with a sad smile. She was nothing if not persistent.

"Obi-Wan - " She paused, reaching a hand up to touch his cheek, smooth now except for faint traces of his shaved beard underneath his chin. His hair, which he'd become accustomed to wearing a little bit longer, now showed signs of a half-finished cut She reached up and ran her hand through the newly cut part. He looked just as he had as a padawan when they'd first met all those years ago. "We wasted so much time."

He hadn't been ready for that.

"What?"

Padme's hand trailed through his hair and down the back of his head, then came back around to rest on his cheek. He looked back at her with glazed eyes and though it could have been from fever, somehow she knew that it was out of love of her, that for him, looking into her eyes was the only true rapture ever experienced by a human being, some paradise set aside by the Force for Obi-Wan only and no one else. She drew his head down toward her, guiding his lips toward hers.

"We should have been doing this seven years ago," she whispered as his lips grazed hers and then paused a moment as if the sensation was so overwhelming that his mind and his heart and his soul needed a moment's rest.

He spoke, brushing her lips faintly with each word. "I wanted to."

Then his mouth captured hers in a way that was both passive and earnest, savoring her taste, unquantifiable, indescribable, so sweet and indulgent and full of life's essence that he knew he'd been missing the point for twenty-seven years. Everything he'd ever done or been had all been meaningless exposition, unavailing filler stretching out over the days and months and years in that same way as this kiss stretched out over nanoseconds and milliseconds and seconds. When she pulled away, it was like someone stealing the platelets right out of his blood.

"Padme."

She shut her eyes at the sound of her name and smiled, leaning into his hand when he brought it to her face.

"Padme, it's getting time for you to go."

That got her attention. She stood up straighter, lifting her chin defiantly. "I think not."

Obi-Wan's lips twitched at that, threatening a smile that never quite came. She was so pure of spirit, direct without being blunt, diplomatic without being insinscere, wonderful without knowing it. Here she was, told calamity was on a collision course with the world she loved and the people in it, told the course of existence would change forever, and all she could think of was him, of his safety and not her own. She was the reason he would fight this day, the reason all Jedi would fight. Padme was everything worth preserving in this galaxy.

"Padme," he tried again, his affection almost palpable. "Love, I need for you to do this for me. I need to know that you're safe, because if I don't, then I'll only be half a man. This war can't be won by the half-whole."

She lowered her head, refusing to meet his eyes. The Force was nothing but a damn thief, stealing happiness from her in the same moment as she found it. Why did everyone and everything conspire to keep out of she and Obi-Wan's reach all those things which might give back some of the meaning the universe took from them at every opportunity? He brought his hand to her chin and gently forced her head up until she looked into his eyes once more, begging that she might drown there. His soft smile inspired one of her own.

After a moment, she ran a curious hand through his hair again.

"Why did you shave your beard? Why are you cutting your hair?"

He might have thought of a lie if he hadn't been in such a trance looking on her face. The truth was something he owed her anyway. He waited a moment, licking his lips, looking down. This time, it was Padme who brought her hand to his chin. He met her eyes.

"Because if I am to fall today, I will hide nothing of myself. The man who slays me will look on my face and he will know who I am and what he's done."

Padme nodded, averting her gaze as her eyes clouded with tears. She willed herself to stop, to do anything but cry. Her final moments with Obi-Wan weren't to be like this. If he did fall as he said, she couldn't bear to think that his final moments would be guilty musings of the pain he caused her. If the cost of his arms were an eternity of slow, calculated, gruesome torture, she would pay the price twenty times over. But to think her dear Jedi's last act in this life could be one of spiritual self-mutilation was unbearable. Somehow, he seemed to sense this discord in her and gave her the moment she needed to gather herself.

When she looked back at him, her eyes still glistened with tears, but her lips curved up in a genuine smile indebted to sanguinity. Obi-Wan brought his hand back to her face, ready to halt the tears that dared to fall.

"I love you," he said.

Padme touched the longish locks toward the back of his head.

"Let me finish cutting your hair," she said quietly, a plea more than a command.

Obi-Wan watched her a moment, then nodded.

"Okay."

The scissors felt so heavy.


	11. The Sorrow of Goodbye

A/N: Seems like I keep churning them out. This one's a little shorter, but I wanted it to have its own chapter, since it feels like a moment that should stand alone. Many thanks for the encouraging words. They're inspiring as I keep on truckin' with this thing. It's all about to reach the boiling point and, well, the excrement's gonna hit the fan, as they say on the streets.

* * *

Brummel heaved the pack over his shoulder, groaning in surprise at its considerable heft. He had food and basic supplies -- a meager tent, canteens, a medical kit, and a few other essentials to round things out. Part of him wondered if this was all for show. If the Jedi fell today, what good would these things do them anyways? They couldn't hide out forever. Eventually, they'd need to replenish their stock. 

If Palpatine were to take control, he would no doubt be thorough and tireless in his search of every last corner of Naboo. He would not rest until every last Jedi were dead, even those who had not yet faced the Trials. Was there even a point to this? What good would it do to hide her for a day, for a week, for a month, years even? What kind of life would that be for her, for a woman with so much pride and selfless optomism? Or him, the man who would be a Jedi?

He looked over at Obi-Wan, his face grim, eyes dark. For him. He'd do it for him, the man he had come to trust during short, poignant conversations these recent days. There was a flash of guilt as he realized that he looked up to him more than he did to Pratt, his Master, the man who had raised him as his son. How could this man, almost ten years younger than Pratt (and only seven years older than Brummel himself) be so venerable, so dignified, and yet so brutally honest about what he perceived to be his shortcomings?

Brummel would gladly follow him into Hell. But Obi-Wan asked something different of him, something that was even harder -- he was going into Hell all alone and asking Brummel to stay clear of it. He saw suddenly morbid images of Padme's demise and nearly panicked at the notion that they might have been visions. After a moment, though, he realized they were only vivid concoctions of his frenetic imagination. Still, his subconscious had made its point. He'd not risk the senator's life or defy Obi-Wan's love-struck wish. He would protect her to the bitter end.

Obi-Wan's eyes roamed over Padme, then turned themselves on Brummel. It was an execrable travesty that this boy would not be allowed to finish his training as any normal Jedi would, that while he had been safe and protected and on a steady path toward the realization of his potential not three days earlier, he was now charged with evading the prostration of goodness just to guard the woman Obi-Wan loved, the woman their code of conduct told him he had no business loving. And this boy, strict and disciplined and at peace with the Force, was willing to sidestep everything he held dear to do this deed. Part of him wondered of this mattered.

If the Jedi fell today, what would it matter anyways? And what would his own involvement matter in the end? What good was he -- one man in all this madness? Why didn't he just accept what was to come and spend what little time he had left with the woman he would sacrifice the lives of everyone in this galaxy for? No, he couldn't do that. He couldn't do that because he had a duty. He couldn't do that because he couldn't live with the pain in Padme's eyes if he knew he could have helped prevent Palpatine's atrocities. He couldn't live with turning his back on the billions who depended on him to ward off the dark tempest. For better or worse, he would stand fast against the coming slaughter.

"Brummel..." he began, faltering for several seconds after that before reclaiming his train of thought (if he had one to begin with). "What I ask of you is something no man should ever be asked for. I'm terribly sorry that this is how it's all going to end. You deserve so many things that you'll never get."

The young man shook his head, inclining his brows. "I have all I need, Master Kenobi."

Obi-Wan searched his eyes for a moment, finding nothing to contradict the assertion. He nodded shortly.

"My only regret," the padawan said, "is that this task is not entrusted to someone more capable."

The Jedi Master smiled, taking a step toward his young friend and grasping his shoulder.

"I have no regrets, Jedi Carde. I would leave this task to none but you. There is no man who could so earn my trust and faith as you, no man wiser and none who could be branded more gallant. I leave you in the company of my love, for I know that if I am ever to return from the storm, she will be in the same condition as that of the time I departed."

Brummel nodded, a flicker of emotion escaping his eyes before he, in consort with the Force, extinguished it and recentered himself. He looked over at Padme, her head bowed, silent tears spilling out. Then, he turned back to Obi-Wan, nodding once more.

"I will die one thousand times before harm is done her," he promised quietly.

Obi-Wan inclined his head in thanks, then lowered his hand and took a step back. Brummel adjusted the strap of his pack and looked over at Padme, then at the Jedi Master once more.

"Knowing you, Master Kenobi, has been an honor."

His elder held his gaze.

"The honor was mine, Jedi."

Their eyes finished the part of the conversation which could not be expressed through words. After a time, Brummel turned away and walked off the porch to give his companions a moment to say goodbye unfettered.

Padme's head was still bowed, the tears flowing now, faster and faster, as if the problems was made exponentially worse with every attempt to stop the leak. It wasn't fair. That's all she could think: it wasn't fair, not to anyone. Not to Brummel, the boy turned man out of tragic need. Not to Obi-Wan, the man who'd taken her heart from her chest and set the beat with his own two hands, only to give it back the second he found the right rhythm. And not her, the woman forced to control the beating of her own heart, now heavy with the knowledge that it no longer belonged to her.

"My Padme," he whispered, closing the distance between them. He brushed his hand through her hair. "My dear, dear Padme."

She looked up, her tears abating for the moment. Her hand went up to touch his face and he lay his atop it, trapping it against his cheek.

"You are the most beautiful creature who ever lived," he said. "On the surface and inside. You've weaved yourself into my very essence, winding in and out so many times that I don't exist independent of you. I don't think I want to."

Padme's eyes, having slowed their production of tears, began anew the flow salty drops.

"Hey..." Obi-Wan trailed off.

There were no words adequate for this moment, so he stopped looking and crushed her to his chest as her tears to sobs, gutwrenching sobs that reverberated throughout his entire body. When they started to slow, she could make out his ragged breath.

"Obi-Wan..."

Sweat covered his face, mingling with the few tears of his own that he hadn't been able to shed. She reached up and touched his forehead with the back of her hand, then let it trail down his jaw.

"You're still so sick."

He shook his head, smiling softly.

"No, darling. It's just pollen season."

That elicited from her the small laugh he'd hoped it would. She wiped his face with the pad of her thumb, and he her face with his. Their eyes locked, gazes unwavering, as if neither of them had ever seen anyone or anything else and bore no regret for that fact, but rather a thankfulness that found its way into the very marrow of their bones.

"Obi-Wan..." She looked down, blinking her eyes, choking out her words. "You're not coming back, are you?"

It was he now who looked away, blinking his own eyes, biting into his bottom lip so hard that he drew blood. He heard her repress some ghastly hybrid of fear and despair and it inspired one of his own. What could he say to that? What could he possibly say?

He took her face in his hands.

"Padme."

She choked down another sob, then met his eyes once more.

"I will kiss you again," he said. "In this life or another."

Their lips sealed the promise, gentle and sad and inquisitive, mapping out the contours for later recollections. She couldn't decide how long it went on, whether the kiss lasted forever or a second, but when she pulled away, it felt like she was on her way to eternity, an eternity without his lips, an eternity pumping her own heart and brushing her own hair and longing for what couldn't be. Padme drew his head down until their foreheads touched.

"Padme," he whispered. "Promise me something."

"Anything."

Her rubbed his nose against hers.

"You may have to repopulate the galaxy. I know Brummel's not as good-looking as me, but -"

Padme laughed softly again, though it couldn't have been discerned as another sob to the untrained ear. A brief silence passed.

"Where will you even go?" she asked.

Obi-Wan took a breath and let it out against her face.

"I'll just follow the stench. The Chancellor has a rather distinct scent."

She didn't laugh that time, just nodded against his forehead, the sobs getting harder and harder to put down. He pulled back and placed a feathery kiss along her hairline. She brought her hand back to his face.

"Brummel's a kind and handsome man, but if it's not too much trouble, maybe you and I can repopulate the galaxy instead."

Now it was his turn to laugh, a low, affectionate chuckle that she committed to memory and resolved to wear out in her mind's eye in the time to come.

"Certainly," he said. "So long as I don't field a better offer."

"On the other hand, me and Brummel would have beautiful children..."

Obi-Wan snorted at that. Neither would speak after that. They knew it was time. Her shaky hands took hold of his face yet again and covered them, did his best to steady them, a lost cause since he could scarcely still his own. They kissed, a short, soft, faint kiss, for it was clear to both that they wouldn't find the strength to part ways if it held any more passion.

"I love you," she whispered. "Goodbye, Jedi."

"Goodbye, love."

He watched her go, listened to those horrible sobs finally escape her. The sound brought back his own. Just look back, he thought. Just look back, Padme. If she just looked back, he'd change his mind. If she just looked back, he'd forget everything he stood for. If she just looked back. If she just looked back.

Obi-Wan shut his eyes. He never saw her look back.


	12. The Opening Shot

A/N: Thank you much once again for the readership, all. If vivid imagery is offensive to you, maybe the think about the "back" button on your browser there. Without further ado, hope you enjoy this next bit here.

* * *

The armies of the Naboo and the Gungans were on alert, gathered around areas of strategic importance, but none of the highly anticipated off-world support had arrived just yet. It was hard for the younger soldiers to understand why they were to fight. They knew little of and cared little for the Force. In the eyes of a select few even, the Jedi were the brainwashed converts of a fringe cult passed down through the ages to new generations of malleable minds. If there was to be a war for their planet, though, they would serve with whatever grace and dignity survived past the opening shot. 

Theed had been fortified as best it could be, but they doubted they could hold onto it for more than an hour, two tops. The Queen had refused to leave, much to Panaka's chagrin. He'd hoped Padme's successor might have more sense than her, but it seemed the throne had a way of bringing out a woman's contumacy. His initial battle lost, he'd then tried to convince her to at least take solace elsewhere, to evacuate the palace. Again, she had refused. So now, all he could do was lock the place down and wait for the inevitable. It was suicide, he knew, but she was his luminary and he would do her bidding until he was physically incapable.

The Jedi were nowhere to be found. It was as if they'd disappeared. What a time for them to be missing, the time when they were most needed. He suddenly wished it was Obi-Wan who had remained behind, for he had proved himself reliable and earned Panaka's trust. His padawan and Pratt did not inspire that same trust, sluggish and reckless and now absent in the darkening hour.

"Captain!"

He turned sharply toward the sound, which emanated from LeClark, his most trusted guard now that his staff had been thinned in the recent attempts on Senator Amidala's life. He was barely twenty, trained only a single year prior, and Panaka couldn't imagine that the young man had bargained for this when he'd signed up. The boy slowed to a jog and then came to a stop right in front of his superior.

"What is it, LeClark?"

"It's the Jedi, sir," he said. "I found him down on the hall. He's unconscious."

Panaka sighed. "Show me."

He was beginning to wonder if ineptitude was something common to all Jedi not named Obi-Wan or Qui-Gon. His patience had been stretched beyond reason by these two. They were lacking in their investigative skills and in effort. They'd slept away half the morning and he hadn't seen either of them since they had been notified of the coming military onslaught. They were nowhere to be found to help during preparations or to even be informed in the first place about what was coming. Now, they'd finally located one of them, and from the sound of things, they'd have to look after him.

The corridor was long and made moreso by Panaka's shortness of temper and time. While most of the palace was colored with elegant greys and resplendent reds, this hall was toned in cool, irenic blues, the kind that calm you against your will, sap your energy and replace it with tranquility. Even as he jogged down the hall behind LeClark, Panaka was soothed by the halcyon lacquer. It reminded him of his mother's house, of a happy childhood with people whose memories inspired in him a serenity that the circumstances of his day-to-day life didn't often warrent.

When they reached the room in question, Panaka knelt in the doorway beside Anakin's prone form, but neither he nor LeClark could make out just what was wrong with him at a glance. He was breathing. That much was clear.

"What the hell's wrong with him?" Panaka asked, bringing a gloved hand to the boy's neck to check his pulse.

LeClark shrugged. "I haven't the faintest clue, but I couldn't rouse him. We need to get the healer."

"They have their hands full enough as it is," Panaka said. "They don't have time for this. There's going to be massive casualties and they have who knows how long to prepare."

The younger man looked at his superior with an expression of disbelief.

"Sir, the boy is hurt or ill. Jedi or not, we have to help him."

Panaka turned sharply. LeClark's eyes did not waver.

"It's no secret you haven't any particular fondness for them, Captain, but are you out of your mind? Are we just going to leave him lying on the floor and go about our business? Would the healers be too busy for _me_ if I was lying here?"

At that, the elder man let out a puff of air and relented. It had been wildly unreasonable of him to suggest they leave the young man lying there, to refuse him medical help because it might have been inconvenient. The stress of this day had fused itself with his disdain for this most recent dealing with the Jedi. Stress and disdain were dangerous bedfellows and they frequented one another's lofts. He looked back at LeClark.

"All right, go and summon the healer. I'll remain for now."

LeClark nodded, then stood and headed off in a brisk walk.

Panaka looked down at the boy and his recent musings softened. He was just a boy, Anakin, trying to live up to a bar set enormously high by his Master and his Master's Master. And after all, he had been up before Pratt this morning, had already begun investigating as best he could while waiting on the older man. He felt a pang of guilt that he had been so disgusted with this young man, especially considering the level of investment he'd displayed in uncovering the plot to assassinate Senator Amidala.

The boy jerked awake suddenly, looking about him with a tight, startled countenance that betrayed the throbbing of his head and the infamiliarity of his surroundings. Panaka reached out a hand to steady him.

"Easy there, son," he said. "Take it easy. You were out cold with something."

Anakin blinked his eyes several times, then focused on the palace security chief.

"I was just... I... there was something. I..." he mumbled, scarcely coherent.

Panaka moved back a foot, just out of the doorway, and put up his hands in a placating gesture as Anakin sat up anxiously, running a frenzied hand through his hair.

"They're coming!" he shouted, whipping his head toward the Captain. "Here, Palpatine, everyone! They're coming! Today, they're coming!"

"I know," Panka said quietly. "I know, son. We're making preparations. Where is Master Saduj?"

Anakin froze at that.

"Saduj."

"Yes, where is he?"

The young Jedi took a shaky breath.

"Force only knows. He's a Jedi no more."

Panaka regarded him quizzically.

"What do you mean?"

Anakin shut his eyes, leaning back, laying his head against the wall. It throbbed, ached, felt as if it might explode or disintegrate or fall off of his shoulders and roll out into the corridor. He opened his eyes and turned slowly toward the security chief.

"He's a traitor, working for -"

Fire swept through the corridor, consuming Panaka in an instant and leaving in his wake charred remains which couldn't be made out in the blaze. Those cool, blue, passionless corridors were now orangey red with enduring rage and a dogged determination to devour all in its path. Anakin reacted quickly, rolling with relative grace away from the door, through which a burst of flames rushed into the room, singing the bottom portion of Anakin's untucked shirt as he avoided narrowly the demonic inferno.

The pounding of his head became white noise as he took quick stock of his surroundings. He was in Pratt's temporary living quarters, where he had sought the elder Jedi before discovering in his Force-driven trance the charming man's treachery. The room was bare of any of his personal affects, though there had been few to begin with. It would seem he'd slipped out undetected sometime earlier, armed with the specifics of the when and the where and the how of Palpatine's cannonading. There were no other exits, only a connecting door to the bathroom, which would offer no solace in the imminent future. The fire spread to the furniture, igniting a couch and the end table beside it. Anakin took a look at the far wall -- no windows, and the wall to the outside world was too thick to penetrate. His own room, two doors down, did have a window, he recalled. It would be a snug fit, but if he could reach it, he could make it work.

The flames nipped at his heels and he hurried into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. He took a step toward the far wall, unclipping his lightsaber from his belt and igniting it in one elegant motion. He gripped it much like he would a spear and thrust it into the wall, cutting himself a crude rectangle with the refulgent green blade. The heat reached him in waves through the door now and it would be only a matter of time until it penetrated the thick wood. Anakin shivered despite the heat as he threw a look over his shoulder, his breath catching as he saw the carpet visible beneath the door replaced with an all-too-prosaic red hue. He continued slicing through the plaster in earnest.

"Come on, you son of a bitch, come on," he hissed fraughtly.

As his blade finished its precise work, the fire was upon him, scorching the flesh of his left hamstring, elicitng a startled cry. He lifted his unburned leg and with one swift kick severed the rectangular stretch of wall from the rest of it, leaping through and away from the flames, which followed him with sedulous madness, consuming the boxspring and mattress of these next living quarters.

Anakin hurried to the far wall, stabbing his lightsaber into the irresilient structure and using it to fashion himself another door. The fire moved with greater urgency through this room, like a sports team gaining confidence through early good play or a shark incensed by the sight of blood. As the Jedi was halfway done carving himself a new escape, so too was the fire half-finished denying him one, engulfing exquisitely-crafted, recherche room pieces and leaving them indescernable from unpolished junk cast into a pile of garbage. The fire drew closer, closer.

Anakin threw a glance over his shoulder.

"Oh, Force, come on. Please, oh please," he murmured. "Obi-Wan, I swear I will never mouth off again if I can just -"

He felt it draw near.

"Get through -"

The blade finished its work.

"This wall!"

Pain coursed through his body as he felt the flames grill the tender flesh at the back of his neck. He lifted his leg again and kicked through the loose piece of wall, stumbling into his living quarters, falling unceremoniously to the ground and striking his head against the thinly carpeted floor.

He lay there for several seconds, his vision blurred, thoughts jumbled and incoherent, his surroundings foreign and incomprehensible. The fire followed him in through the gap in the wall, voracious with glee at the Jedi's prone form. It licked the bottom of his boots like they were a sherbert between an aristocrat's meals, a cleansing of the pallette before it sank its teeth into the main course.

Anakin lifted his head off the ground and glanced behind him, watching in horror as the flames crawled up his boots. He forced himself off the ground with great effort and scanned the room for the window. It was mid-way across the room, situated several feet above a meager desk. He suddenly had doubts about whether he could fit. It was an ornamental piece more than a functional one, just a small way to allow in a sliver of light. The fire was nearly there already.

He took two long, quick, heavy, painful strides through air that felt like molasses and bounded onto the desk, which teetered with his weight, almost sending him back down to the ground. With no cares to protect himself, he drove his elbow through the window, shattering it on contact, shards of broken glass slicing into the skin up and down his arm. He made a fist, and broke a few of the shards which had stayed attached. Placing his palms flat against the bottom, merging broken pieces with the flesh there, he hauled himself up, then used his newfound leverage to grasp the wall on the outside.

The fire hit his boots again, then roasted the flesh of his previously stricken hamstring with renewed vigor. He cried out again, so loudly that was sure they heard him on Coruscant. It worked its way up his leg, toward his thigh. With one final desperate grunt, he pushed himself through the window, spilling designlessly and unforgivingly to the cold, hard ground outside the palace.

Cold. Coolness. It felt like joy. He shut his eyes and blacked out.

* * *

Brummel stiffened and stopped in his tracks. Padme stopped beside him, laying a hand on his arm. 

"What is it?"

The Jedi took a steady breath.

"It's begun."


	13. The Frontline

A/N: First off, I never do a great job of proof-reading. There's always plenty of stuff I don't catch, mostly instances where I type a different word than I mean to. But anyways, couple that with the fact that I'm pretty tired and there's probably a million errors here. I'll try and go back and edit it to that end in the future, but for now, my apologies.

Thanks to ya'll for sticking with the story, for following along with me here as this thing keeps moving along.

So, here we are. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

The palace was reduced to rubble inside five minutes, its occupants all burned or buried, save a few of the lucky and quick-witted. By the time half an hour had passed, the Naboo military units defending Theed against the siege had taken on casualties that depleted their numbers by well over forty percent. They scrambled, stunned, frightened, looking for leadership and finding blood and bones instead. The startled retreat left units cut off from one another and inadequately armed, equiptment shed or left behind by many in their zeal to find safety. 

In Kalosia, the Gungans were faring much better. They'd handled the first wave of attackers with few casualties, sending the Chancellor's army back several miles to regroup and imbuing the sea-dwelling creatures with a timely confidence that spurred on their efforts further. This was about the only place where the natives were holding their ground. Twelve key cities in the south had already fallen into enemy hands. Another four soon would, their lines breached and reinforcements non-exisistent. Every time they felt like they were finally gaining an advantage, more and more clones would file in from some unseen oblivion and stack the odds against them once more. There were deserters and plenty of them, but they never seemed to get very far, struck down by Palpatine's army or errant friendly fire.

Evacuation of women and children and seniors had been disjointed, especially in the rural areas, where word had been passed too slowly. Families huddled together in cellars; in the basements of public buildings; in dark, filthy sewers. Those exposed to the fighting were spared no special consideration, shot with the same thoughtless efficiency as those engaged in combat. Many of the bodies were indescernible from those of Naboo's military and malitia. Few wore uniforms, dressed in everyday clothes turned to rags in the fighting, stained with blood and grime and the essence of dreams severed from parents' eyes. In all the madness, one man cradled his dead son and his thoughts could be heard out loud, if only anyone would have bothered to listen: I'm already dead, he thought. The breathing is just a spasm.

Somewhere just outside of Alajandri, fairly near the shoreline, four tired men, boys maybe, sat obscured by thick, heavy brush, their breath rushed and dilapidated, bodies dirty and aching and begging to be anywhere but there. The oldest, Coloshi, was no more than twenty-five, but inspired confidence in his young friends beyond those years with a thick beard that put him more in league with their fathers. He hadn't even gotten the names of his three companions -- he hadn't asked and they hadn't offered -- but they were all so very distinct in their characteristics and mannerisms that it had not taken him to able to differentiate them from one another.

The stocky man's hair was receding, but Coloshi surmised it was happening rather prematurely, for the face didn't have the lines and wrinkles to match. He was anxious, frightened, throwing a glance over each shoulder several times a minute, his wild eyes felled by some rabid case of ADD.

The lanky man worked very hard on maintaining a facade of calm, but it didn't quite work, nor did his efforts to make himself appear older with a goatee that fed the rest of his face sporadic patches of stubble resembling scattered mold spores. He said little and, in the privacy of his own introspection, had annointed himself the silent, steady leader from which all around him drew strength. It was a role he wasn't fit for.

The moppy-haired man was the most boyish-looking, with soft, naive features that had not yet been cultivated by loss and love and everything in-between. Coloshi had a feeling that would change by the end of this day. It had already started to.

The blue-eyed man appeared the most at ease, even moreso than Coloshi, as if he didn't know the stakes or they didn't bother him, as if he wasn't aware his life was on the line or didn't value it so much. There was an aloofness about him, a sense that everyone and everything was and would always waste his time. His rifle was tucked under his arm, his finger always lingering on the trigger, which he had no trouble pulling on any occasion that might warrent it. Coloshi spared a glance at the power cell on the weapon, noting how many more blasts he'd fired than any of the others. Somehow, it disconcerted him.

The stocky man's words spilled out in one long, single rush of air.

"What are we gonna do? Could we just stay here? We could just stay and wait and maybe they'll find us and we'll meet up and then we can all go, or maybe we should go and find them - but - wait - no, that's a bad idea because -"

"Shut the hell up, would you?" Coloshi snapped, massaging his temples.

The stocky man lowered his head and didn't speak again. His eyes met those of the lanky man, who, with a few seconds to consider the matter and a few deep breaths to prepare himself, turned to Coloshi.

"Hey, lay off him. We're all just -"

One stern glance closed his mouth in the same way it had the stocky man's. Nobody said anything for several minutes, trapped in their own deeply personal reveries. Coloshi spared no energy wondering about the musings of the other men. He didn't want to learn any more about them than he had to because it would just make things that much harder when they turned to corpses later on. His heart needed no additional content, overtaxed and overheated enough with what was already there.

He'd signed up the day he turned eighteen, just after the conflict with the Trade Federation when former Queen Amidala had decreed that Naboo was to have a standing army to protect against future invaders. She had, however, made it clear that she had no plans for military conscription, a stance that might have been softened by her successor if there had been time to prepare properly for this present engagement with the Chancellor's forces.

The past several years of his life had been rather uneventful. In fact, it wasn't but one month ago that he'd found himself salivating for an opportunity to use his training in a combat situation. How foolish that thought had been, bred from and nurtured by childhood games of Hero-and-Villain, where he and his friends had brandished toy guns and fought the wars that propaganda literature wanted them to think were fought -- wars decisive in their designation of good and evil ideologies.

Ironic, he thought, that this was what he'd been searching for his entire life, and now that he found it, he wished he could change everything he ever did from the time he could talk. For the briefest of moments, he even thought it might be better if he'd never been born at all, as if his war-hungry aspirations had somehow damaged the collective unconscious beyond repair and it was that one single fact which had precipitated the galaxy's present predicament.

"You'll want to cover your ears now," the blue-eyed man said non-challantly, as if to the air and not companions.

Coloshi's eyes narrowed, like he hadn't heard him right.

"What did you s -"

The ground exploded ten feet away, a geyser of dirt and shrubs and assorted debris, showering down atop the stunned men, who had had no time to process the blue-eyed man's insouciant warning. Another explosion followed. Then a third. Then a fourth. Coloshi struggled to his knees, grabbing his rifle.

"Come on!" he shouted over a fifth explosion. "We gotta go!"

He managed to get to his feet, wobbly though they were from their irregular patterns of use and rest. When he'd steadied himself, he reached down and grasped the moppy-haired man's arm at the elbow and hauled him to his feet, reaching down and grabbing his rifle, then thrusting it into hands. The blue-eyed man stood with far less urgency, his rifle rising with him like it were some third appendage attached directly to his body. He offered a casual hand to the stocky man, lifting him with surprising ease to his feet.

Coloshi flinched, covering his face as the ground exploded yet again, much closer this time, the force of the blast nearly taking them all off their feet. He grabbed the stocky man by the arm and pulled him away from the brush back toward what had once been a steady dirt path, but was now a collection of craters and metal.

The lanky man shouted over the noise.

"Where's that coming from!"

The craters were difficult to navigate, especially for the immensely unfit stocky man, who Coloshi assisted every step of the way, leaving the blue-eyed man and the lanky man to fend for themselves. They were doing an admirable job of it to this point, but with each hollowed hole they climbed over, their breath got shorter and their bodies weakened.

"It's air support!" Coloshi replied. "They're trying to flush out the survivors!"

That startled the stocky man and he slipped out of his elder's grasp, sliding back down the current crater they were braving, landing on his back at the bottom and flailing his arms and legs about like a frenzied turtle. The blue-eyed man pulled him back up, taking over Coloshi's duty, grasping the heavy man by the forearm and dragging him gracelessly back toward the top.

"What do you mean, _survivors_?" the balding soldier exclaimed between panting breaths.

Coloshi grunted as he slid down into the next crater, followed by the blue-eyed man, who landed atop him in a heap. The stocky man and the lanky man waited in the hole just behind them, waiting for their two companions to right themselves and move out of the way. Coloshi pulled the blue-eyed man up with him.

"I _mean_ that we've lost this battle rather resoundingly! And -"

Another explosion -- this one felt as if it had gone off in Coloshi's head, so potent and immediate and consuming that he lost consciousness for the briefest of moments as his body was lifted off the ground and thrown several feet ahead, like some pernicious tornado that had stalked him all his life, waiting with unwonted patience for the moment he would be most vulnerable to exercise its power. He couldn't hear anything, save an intense, piercing ringing that made him beg to be deaf. His eyes, now dry and filled with dirt and just barely open, turned to look at the blue-eyed man, who looked to be in a similar state.

Coloshi struggled to roll over onto his back, pulled muscles and torn tendons and aching bones resisting every inch of the way. He could see pieces of flesh and bone and brain matter strewn slovenly about, the dreams and hopes and agonies of the stocky man and the lanky man reduced now to bloody chunks submerged in soil.

With a great deal of effort, he rolled his head to the left to look upon the blue-eyed man again, noting the abberant angle of his leg, surely fractured in multiple places. Coloshi couldn't hear any longer, but he could still see the dirt fly as wave after wave of fire rained down still from above. It was only a matter of time now until one of these blasts finally hit them. He closed his eyes and waited.

Seconds passed. Or minutes. Or maybe hours. He couldn't track time anymore. Eventually, though, he felt his body being shaken. At first, he thought it was the nearness of another explosion jarring him, but he soon realized it was a person. Somehow from the Chancellor's army come to make sure he was dead or take him as a prisoner of war, he figured. Whoever was doing it was obnoxiously persistent. Out of sheer annoyance, he eventually happened his eyes, looking with blurred, unsteady vision on a young man standing over him. He couldn't quite make out the face, but he saw the lips moving. The man was trying to tell him something.

Obi-Wan stopped shaking Coloshi, moving his hand up to the man's head, running it over his scalp for signs of concussion. There were several bumps to be found and all of them supported that conclusion. He leaned down and spoke loudly and directly into the soldier's ear.

"Can you hear me? My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. I'm a Jedi. I'm going to help you."

No response except the same vacant stare he'd been getting since Coloshi opened his eyes. The Jedi sighed, looking at the blue-eyed man, unconscious and injured rather severely, then back at Coloshi. Another booming explosion not far from them aroused in Obi-Wan a greater sense of urgency and he grabbed Colishi by the arm, using it to pull him up, and then throwing it over his shoulder. He looked back down at the blue-eyed man, dipping carefully and trying with one arm to pluck him from the clutches of the dirt.

"Anakin..." Obi-Wan groaned as he got a grip on the downed infantryman. "If I live through this, I will never complain about your womanizing again."

The shots kept raining down.

* * *

Padme watched Brummel stuff the food rations back into his pack. He looked tired for the first time she could recall. Usually, his eyes held an unquellable ebullience, the kind of undying energy that could be found in Anakin's. Unlike Anakin, however, that exuberance was tempered with sober rationality. She wasn't sure she could see either of those things at the moment, though. There was something different about him. She looked on with interest at the way he was returning the items to his pack. Everything was oriented in the same way it had been when he removed it. His world was so ordered. 

"You look weary, Master Jedi."

He smiled at the moniker. She loved it when he smiled.

"Not weary, m'lady. Solemn."

"And why so solemn?"

His smile faded at that. He saw something in her eyes when it did, a disappointment, not in him but in herself, as if she was to blame for its departure. It was a perfect fit in that regard, she and Obi-Wan. They both blamed themselves for circumstances entirely beyond their control, torturing themselves with what they perceive to be their mistakes, transgressions, when there's scarcely a soul in the known universe who would agree with them.

"I take your safety very seriously, Senator. I will not fail you or Master Kenobi."

She nodded, her expression filled with warmth.

"I have every confidence in you and your abilities," Padme said. "You're going to be a great teacher some day."

Brummel was surprised at that, pleased in his own quiet, humble way. In a sense, he'd always felt like he was letting Pratt down by not sharing his ideology about the flaws of the Jedi and the direction the Order was going. His discipline had always been met with something bordering on rebuke. Here, though, with Obi-Wan and now with Padme, he felt appreciated, cared for. She oozed good will out of every pore.

"Thank you. I hope you're right."

"I am," she replied. "And if I'm not, I won't know you by then, so I'll be off the hook anyway."

He laughed at that, a chuckle that reminded her of the one Obi-Wan had let out in their final moments together. She didn't think he was going to say anything, but after a moment, he stopped what he was doing and looked back at her.

"I do hope you're wrong, m'lady," he said, drawing a quizzical expression. "About knowing me. I hope I know you for some time to come."

Padme smiled broadly.

"You can charm me until you're blue in the face, Master Jedi, but my heart is taken."

Brummel let out a sound that was something between a laugh and a sigh. It made her feel calm, safe. She wondered suddenly what this traditionalist Jedi thought of she and Obi-Wan's consortship. It seemed obvious that it wasn't anything deeply disconcerting to him, and she wondered why. That was such an important tenant of the Order, the rejection of love.

"Can I ask you something, Brummel?"

He finished repacking the food.

"Of course."

"What do you think about Obi-Wan and I?" she asked. "About us being together. About him loving me."

The padawan, who had been about to insist that they get moving again, suddenly dropped from a crouch into a sitting position, leaning back against the large tree behind him. He thought for a moment, uncertain what to say because he couldn't quite explain it to himself yet.

"Master Saduj has always told me rules like that are ineffectual, arcane."

"But you you never believed him."

He looked away.

"No, I never believed him. I wanted to be all those things which I saw in Master Yoda and Master Windu."

"It must be difficult, always being at odds with the man you know as a father."

Brummel nodded slowly, like he didn't think the assessment was accurate, but was at a loss to figure why.

"I think it was hard for a long time, but it's not anymore. Since..."

She waited a moment, but when he didn't continue, she supplied the answer. "Since you met Obi-Wan?"

"Yes..." he said, his nod more sure this time. "He cleared a lot of things up for me. There's things going on inside me that I never knew were there, not until he admitted that they were there in him too."

"What kind of things?"

"Restlessness... uncertainty..."

Padme watched him fight the vital word.

"Love?"

He looked up sharply, like the notion was ludicrous, but looking into her eyes softened his own. He looked away, then back at her with a barely perceptible nod.

"Yes. Love."

She could see the battle going on inside of him, could sense both the relief and disgust of the admission. It wasn't fair of her to do this now, not when he had so much weighing him down as it was. But they were already on this road and she owed it to him to see it through now.

"Have you ever been in love?"

"No," he said quietly, his lips turning down in a frown. "I haven't. I... I still believe in the Order, believe in it in its present incarnation. And I understand jealousy and what it leads to, the suffering it can cause. But I just can't understand what's so evil about love itself. It's the man that fails love, not the love that fails man."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is... if a man is born evil, love won't be the mechanism that leads him down the dark path. It will be his own nature. There's nothing inherently wrong with love. A love that could corrupt a man, make him into a monster, that's not love at all. Obsession maybe. Infatuation for sure. But not love."

He didn't say anything else. Padme gave him a few moments to gather himself, taking the opportunity to watch him as she'd done on so many occasions already. He was so complicated and he was only now just finding that out. With every revelation, she found herself liking him more and more. She knew he had an affection for her as well and that fact provided her with a morsel of the warmth she'd been missing in Obi-Wan's absence.

"I think you're a very wise man, Master Jedi."

He smiled.

In the distance, they heard blaster fire.

"We have to go, m'lady. I regret I took too much time. I've compromised our safety."

She sighed and stood up. Her feet were so tired. His expression was so grim.

"Lead on."


	14. A Jedi's Guile

A/N: Well, I have a clear direction of where this going now, and depending on what you're expecting, it'll probably end up being longer or shorter than you'd presume. In any case, appreciate those of you who are kind enough to read and leave me feedback. I am enjoying writing this a great deal. Any random ideas you'd like to throw at me, feel free to. Beyond that, hope you guys enjoy.

* * *

Six armed guards led him through the old theater house, the lone survivor of Theed's city-wide modernization decades prior. It was well-kept, immaculately maintained for ongoing performances. The long corridor flowed past two sets of stairs up to the balconies and a half-dozen doors leading into the main theater. At the end of the corridor was one single door leading into a private chamber, where for several centuries, past monarchs were treated to exclusive performances by the best and brightest of Theed's theatrical arts. 

There wasn't much about the room that was regal, though, colored in dour greys and saturnine blacks, with a bleak, lifeless floor, patterned in triangles sharp enough to pierce a man's soul. At the far end of the room, a small set of steps led up to a tall, elaborately-crafted chair, but it failed still to circumvent the gloom of the chamber, for it was itself dark and foreboding and sinister, with aesthetically-jarring cusped edges. Two less imposing chairs were positioned to each side, seating in days gone by for guests and foreign dignitaries.

The lighting was just as bleak, and somehow, the chamber grew even darker as the guards parted, three on each side, to allow Palpatine to walk very methodically to the far end, where he took his seat in the monarch's chair. He felt at home.

Heavy footsteps could be heard in the corridor, the guards gripping their weapons anxiously. When Pratt and a cloaked man entered, they relaxed their holds and allowed the new arrivals to step through and walk leisurely toward the Chancellor, whose lips turned up in a baneful grin that could have ravaged the planet alone.

Pratt smiled as well. His, though, was one of gentle amusement, and was doubtlessly the most out-of-place thing in the room. The cloaked man beside him betrayed nothing, his hands clasped together in front of him like it was their natural state. Pratt's hands were loose at his sides, his demeanor cavalier. Palpatine's smiled faded, replaced by a familiar scowl.

"Darth Ovid."

The cloaked man bowed.

"Lord Saduj."

Pratt inclined his head, his smile lingering.

"Bring you any news?" the Chancellor asked with mild interest.

Ovid nodded curtly.

"The Jedi have arrived with their coalition. Our fleet destroyed 40 of their troop transports in orbit. The forces that got through have enjoyed modest success to this point, but their numbers are detiorating much faster than ours."

Palpatine let loose a jocund cackle that was incompatible with his morose countenance. He nodded contentedly.

"Good!" he said. "Good. Soon, the Jedi will be extinct and I will have dominion over both the Force and this galaxy."

Pratt spared a glance at Ovid before addressing his Master.

"And what of Skywalker, my lord?"

"You will find him and bring him here."

Each man inclined his head, then turned and left.

* * *

With every step, his hold on each man loosened. Coloshi was at least semi-conscious now and making some small effort to take infrequent steps, but the blue-eyed man was out cold, and even if he were conscious, his right leg had been rendered useless by myriad bone fractures. From what he'd seen so far, Obi-Wan could surmise the war was not going well for the Naboo. He held out hope that the Jedi coalition had arrived or soon would, but he'd seen no evidence to that effect to this point. All he'd seen were dead bodies, most of them belonging to the army of Naboo. He'd slithered through a few small-arms conflicts, skirmishes meaningless to all except those who fought them. 

He could feel his calf burn where he'd taken a blaster shot passing through the small town of Yepeal, but he couldn't be bothered to pay it any mind just now, rather single-minded as he dragged along the two wounded soldiers, searching for some shelter, any shelter. He'd have preferred to find solace with a Naboo or Gungan unit, but the way things were going, he wasn't sure there were any left anyways. So, he followed the dirt path in search of a building that was at least mildly intact.

The aerial barrage had stopped for the moment, but he took it as no invitation for a rest. In fact, it hastened his movements, like he was caught in some hurricane and knew that this was only the eye. He could tell his hold on the men was degrading nearly to the point where he would lose them to the ground, but there wasn't much to be done about it. Coloshi had lost consciousness again. His eyes were bleary with fever, his bones and muscles aching from stress -- both physical and mental -- and his mind drifted more often than he cared for back to Padme and Brummel, praying that they were all right, that they'd heeded his call for them to hide and wait. It was distracting.

Each thought of Padme loosened his hold on the men more until he dragged Coloshi now by a loose hold on the collar of his jacket. It looked much like a puppy being held up by his neck, but there were no points for style. He wondered suddenly if the young soldier's wounds were being infected with each inch of dirt he was pulled through, but there was no time to worry about that either. Infections could be treated. Death could not.

The dirt path fed out into a shopping pavilion and it was only then that Obi-Wan realized he was emerging from the Aljandri Path, a long corridor of dirt and greens that on a normal day would cost twenty Republican credits to walk through. He'd taken Anakin here in the days following the resolution of the Trade Federation conflict. It had been a beautiful day, a beautiful moment. He could tell that the boy liked him, had taken to him. How quickly that had changed, he thought. His bond with Anakin wasn't as strong as those of most Masters and padawans, he knew. It had always disconcerted him. When push came to shove, though, he knew Anakin loved him. His own love for Anakin had never been in question.

There was a restaurant some twenty feed ahead, the marquee dangling dangerously beside the front entrance, windows reduced to broken glass spread out over the ground outside and the floor inside. He hurried on, grunting now with each foot he put forward as he felt the muscles in his arms spasm with the weight of their cargo.

"Just a little further, guys," he whispered hoarsely through gritted teeth. "And then _you_ can carry _me_."

It was only another five feet and then his body could rest. Another five feet and he'd be able to look these men over and see which injuries were treatable with what he had. He made it the doorway and gracelessly dumped Coloshi onto the floor. As he went to pull the blue-eyed man over to his other side to drop him beside Coloshi, the back of his head burst open, spraying blood and fluids and brain matter all over Obi-Wan's right side.

He dropped the dead man's body abruptly, diving through one of the shot-out windows and wincing in pain as he landed on the unyielding floor inside, sliding several feet back until he struck a circular table, knocking it onto its side.

Blaster fire erupted in earnest, sending Obi-Wan scrambling for the near wall. He crawled caustically back toward the door, grabbing Coloshi by the collar and dragging him away from the doorway. The table he'd struck upon entering through the window was now shattered in a thousand pieces by stray fire, which continued to pour in, laying waste to any object in sight of the marauders. Obi-Wan had no idea where they were, where the shots were coming from, and right now, he wasn't much in the mood to look out the window and see.

A moan beside him indicated Coloshi was regaining consciousness. The shots came in constant intervals, never ceasing for more than two seconds or so. Obi-Wan lifted the man to a sitting position and held him against the wall while he regained his bearings.

"Where am I?" he slurred, looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings.

"In the middle of a rather unpleasant situation!" Obi-Wan shouted over the blaster shots. "I don't suppose you have a gun or anything hiding inside that jacket of yours, do you!"

Coloshi stared at him a moment, blinking, as if Obi-Wan's words were spoken in a foreign language he'd studied ten years ago and he could make out the words if he could just concentrate. When he didn't respond, Obi-Wan sighed and unzipped it for him, reaching his hands into the inside pockets. He found a few spare power cells for the man's rifle, but that didn't much help since the rifle had been abandoned some five hundred yards ago. The other pocket held some cubic device he didn't recognize.

"What's this!"

The soldier looked right through him. Obi-Wan held it up right in front of his eyes with one hand, grabbing his collar with the other and pulling him closer.

"What's this!"

Coloshi stared at it a moment, and when he finally looked back at Obi-Wan, he appeared lucid.

"It's a smoke grenade," he said, speaking in a conversational tone that the Jedi barely heard. "You set it and then you throw it and it makes a smoke-screen. Obscures everything within fifteen feet."

Obi-Wan looked down at it and grunted, then laid his head back against the wall. He shut his eyes and took a few deep steady breaths, seeking to commune with the Force. Coloshi watched him, his interest in their predicament growing with each second as his cognizability was reawakened.

The Jedi could make out three gunmen, two of them five feet apart, situated fifteen feet from the restaurant, and the other angled off to the side some thirty feet back. This plan had a rather slim upside.

He opened his eyes and looked back at Coloshi.

"I'm going to try something here!" he shouted. "If it doesn't work, I have a sneaking suspicion we'll both be dead!"

Coloshi nodded dumbly and Obi-Wan wondered if his ability to comprehend had already been compromised again by his concussion. It didn't really matter either way at this point. He patted the soldier on the cheek and was surprised to feel a hand on his arm when he began crawling toward the door again.

"Good luck," Coloshi mumbled.

Obi-Wan managed a tight smile, then scooted over to the doorway, peaking his head out and narrowly avoiding the same fate the blue-eyed man had suffered. He took a few more breaths, unclipping his lightsaber from his belt. A bead of sweat rolled off his forehead and into his eye, which he blinked several times until the stinging subsided.

He turned the dial on the cubic grenade, pausing a moment, and then tossing it out the doorway into the street, his exposed arm taking a grazing blaster shot for his trouble. The pain forgotten, he sprung to his feet, igniting his lightsaber and bounding out the door through the smoke.

With a fluidity he didn't quite feel, he dodged a barrage of shots fired aimlessly through the gray haze and deflected some of them back with his trusted blue blade. He heard a startled cry and knew he'd felled one of them.

The haze began to clear and he could make out one of the gunmen at just the same time as he saw Obi-Wan. But the Jedi was faster, leaping into the air and flipping gracefully over the man's back. He turned around just in time to see Obi-Wan's lightsaber coming toward his chest and striking a mortal blow.

Quickly, Obi-Wan turned about, instinctively lifting his weapon at the last possible moment, blocking what would have been a fatal shot and sending it instead back into forehead of the man who'd fired it.

The Jedi took several heavy breaths, surveying the carnage, turning off his lightsaber and clipping it back on his belt. That wasn't in the Order's handbook, but it would do.

He walked slowly back toward the restaurant, the pain of his damaged arm only now setting in. Pinning it against his chest, he took the last few painful strides to the doorway, pausing a moment to hang his head at the sight of the blue-eyed man's corpse. After a moment, he leaned his head in. Coloshi stood up.

"Are you all right?"

The soldier nodded. "I'm fine. Are you?"

Obi-Wan gestured in the affirmative as well, then extended his uninjured left arm, offering his hand. It was accepted.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Irab Coloshi," the soldier replied. "You're a Jedi."

Nodding but saying nothing more, Obi-Wan stepped back outside and walked back toward the dead clones to retrieve their weapons. He gestured for Coloshi to follow.

* * *

Brummel clamped a hand over Padme's mouth, then put a finger to his lips. She looked at him questioningly, pushing his hand off but remaining quiet. 

He pointed to the east, then mouthed the words: "troops, four of them."

"Ours?" she mouthed back.

The padawan shook his head glumly.

That wasn't an expression Padme liked to see on the face of a man who was nearly imperturbable. This was a much more serious matter than their earlier brushes with the Chancellor's army, obviously, for he'd maintained his dispassionate demeanor on those earlier occasions. Here, now, he was sullen, his kind eyes hardened by the gravity of their present impasse.

She watched those eyes dart about, scanning the area for a place to hide or an angle to use, his mind working doubletime. For the first time, Padme heard the footsteps now and saw them in the near-distance. She and Brummel were obscured by a tree for the moment and the clones were still a little ways off, but any movement on either of their parts would divulge their position and put them in immediate danger.

Brummel's breath quickened as their options dwindled. There was no way this tree would obfuscate them for much longer, and if they were going to make a move, they needed to do it while there was still some distance between them and the clones. His mind was blank when he most needed it, blank when Padme most needed it. If Obi-Wan were here, he would know what to do. Brummel was in over his head.

Padme could tell he was at a loss to find a way out of this. For a moment, she wondered what Obi-Wan would do if he were here, but she shook the thought quickly. Obi-Wan wasn't here. Brummel was. Certainly, he wasn't as wily or experienced or clever as the Jedi Master, but he was not without wit or skill. He had far more than any padawan should. She trusted he would get them through this. The thought startled her. There had been very few she had ever trusted unconditionally. Whether it was the young Jedi himself or the severity of their present situation that stirred up that unending trust, she couldn't say, but it was there nonetheless.

She met his gaze, asking with her eyes the question she knew he was contemplating.

He sighed and leaned in toward her ear.

"I'm going to make a spectacle of myself running that way," he whispered, gesturing north. "You wait until they start after me and then run south."

It was all Padme could do not to laugh in his face. Okay, he was no Obi-Wan when it came to things like this, but that plan was just patently ridiculous. If he really expected her to go along with that, he was out of his mind. These Jedi and their altruistic complex, she thought. There was something both comical and tragic about their overwrought selflessness.

"No, that's quite a horrible idea, actually," she replied.

Brummel hadn't quite been expecting that.

"Um... m'lady, we don't really have a lot of choices right now and your safety is the real issue here, so -"

Padme shook her head vehemently.

"You will not help the cause of my protection by going and getting yourself killed, Master Jedi," she said sternly. "And even if that plan works, where will I go? How can we be sure they wouldn't find me anyway? Really, Brummel, for being such a smart man, you utter some of the most doltish things I've ever heard."

The Jedi ran a frustrated hand through his hair, looking away. This woman was impossible. It was almost like she enjoyed danger, the way she was always confrontational about leaving it. She refused to accept anything that would put someone in harm's way and leave her out of it. This woman and her altruistic complex, he thought. There was something both adorable and vexing about her overwrought selflessness.

"Then, Senator, what do you suggest?" Brummel asked, his voice a bit louder than he'd intended.

They each held their breath a moment as they looked to see if the volume of the padawan's voice had betrayed their position. The pair exhaled when they saw it hadn't.

For a moment, Brummel didn't think she was going to say anything and had prepared a flippant remark for the occasion, but she surprised him as he should have been accustomed to by then.

"They won't kill me," she whispered. "I'm a Senator."

Brummel rolled his eyes. "Need I remind you, m'lady, that the reason I'm on this planet is because people were trying to kill you? And I hardly think your diplomatic status matters much, considering the Chancellor is orchestrating one of the worst slaughters in the history of man."

That took some of the wind out of her sails.

"Well, when you put it that way, it just sounds silly," she said. That hadn't quite deterred her, though. "But it's different now. Chancellor Palpatine has always treated me like some sort of protege or like his daughter or niece or something. I'm a prize for him."

"They don't know that!" Brummel snapped. "And thinking is not really their strong suit."

He glanced over at the approaching quartet. They were running out of time.

"Brummel," she whispered sweetly. "Do you trust me?"

What a time for her to lay that one on him. He didn't have any trouble seeing how Obi-Wan fell for her. He'd have severed himself from all four of his limbs if she'd asked him to in that voice. It was obvious she wasn't going to go along with his plan and every second they spent debating the matter was a second that the clones drew closer. He hated this idea, but what choice did he have? Obi-Wan would kill him if this went bad. If he was even still alive. Brummel pushed the morose thought from his mind, then took a defeated breath and nodded to Padme. She smiled.

He gestured toward the top of the tree, then grabbed onto a branch on got a foothold against the bark. Padme gave him a single nod, then stepped out from behind the tree into plain view of the clones, who came to an abrupt stop about twenty-five feet back, training their weapons on her.

"Don't shoot!" she shouted. "I'm a Senator. Don't shoot!"

The leader held up an open hand, a silent instruction to his three companions to hold their fire. They began to walk toward her, tentative, wary, their fingers a tremor away from pulling their triggers.

Padme began to wonder why she'd thought this was such a good idea. Four gun barrells, every one of them leveled right at her. She'd always been a woman with a keen intuition and she felt the blood rush to her head when it told her that this was it, that this was the end. For all her worry about Obi-Wan walking into Hell, the devil had come and found her. Thoughts of her beloved Jedi filled her head. She'd dreamed of living out the rest of her days by his side, in his arms. They'd watch the sun rise and set and then they'd retire to bed to make love and then sleep until whatever hour of the morning they felt like rising.

It seemed like it had been two decades since she'd seen him, but in reality, it had been only hours. She wondered if he was dead or alive and rejoiced in the fact that if it were the former, she'd join him soon. Somehow, though, Padme knew that if he were dead, she would know it already. No, he was very much alive. And she _would_ see him again. She had to. Suddenly, dying here was not an option, was unacceptable. There were too many things she had to say too him, too many ways she had left to show him that she loved him.

Her heart felt like it would burst from her chest at any instant. They were close now, closing in, their guns still fixed right on her.

"I'm S-Senator Pad-Padme Amidala," she said with a shaky voice that belied every last bit of fear she felt in that moment. "I'm one of the Chancellor's greatest supporters."

That answer didn't seem to satisfy them. The leader's finger squeezed back on the trigger. She shut her eyes and pictured Obi-Wan.

Brummel dropped down from a tree branch ten feet off the ground, knocking the leader onto his back, sending his intended shot at Padme harmlessly into the distance.

In one motion so smooth that she couldn't have ever explained how he did it, the padawan grabbed the leader's blaster, struck him in the face with it, and then fired a single shot dead into the chest of each of the other three clones, who fell lifelessly to the ground.

He took a few heavy breaths, adrenaline pumping through his veins in record volume. That could have gone bad very, very easily. She could be dead right now and so could he. His inability to think of a way out of that situation had put Padme needlessly in danger. If he'd just come up with something better himself, it wouldn't have been necessary to expose her to any risk at all. He knew he'd failed Obi-Wan, or that if he hadn't, he'd come damn close.

Brummel glanced at Padme, her own breath even more ragged than his. He could see the tears in her eyes. She never should have had to do this. He'd never felt hatred before, but in that moment, he hated himself.

He felt tears spring to his own eyes. That had never happened, not once in twenty years. He looked back at the semi-conscious leader, rising to his feet and standing over him, gun still in hand.

"Padme, don't look."

She turned away and he fired a single shot through the leader's head.

That was too much. Padme began to sob.

It was such a terrible thing.


	15. The Heat of Battle

A/N: All right. Much obliged to you guys who are reading and many thanks for the encouraging words, which set that little muse ablaze and help to get this stuff pumping out of me. Here is the next installment. Enjoy.

* * *

Anakin peaked his head around the corner at the next street. Several of the buildings there were still intact, a peculiar sight considering the last fifteen minutes had been spent navigating waste and ruin. He recognized that this was the business district, home to a plethora of corporate headquarters and government offices. In fact, he'd almost gone in a circle. The remains of the palace weren't too far from here. For all his work to get out of Theed, he was right back in the heart of it. 

In the distance, he could hear the heavy footsteps of an army marching in unison. He needed to find a place to hide and think things through for now. That building straight across would do nicely. The padawan gave a quick glance down each side of the road, then broke into a limping jog toward what he could now see was the Gungan Embassy.

As he made his way toward it, he got a better look at the rest of the street and realized that this stretch of buildings wasn't quite as intact as they had appeared from his previous vantage point. It didn't much matter, though, so long as the embassy building proved to be as structurally sound as it looked from the outside.

When he made it to the front entrance, he was surprised that the automatic doors were still functioning. He stepped inside, but stopped in the doorway, looking behind him. Anakin couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. So ensconced was he in the pain radiating from a dozen places on his body, though, that he wasn't attuned enough to the Force to explore the matter beyond the sense in his gut.

He stepped fully inside now, the doors sliding shut behind him, and looked around. Everything was intact. The retina scanner just ahead of him appeared to still be functioning. Anakin stepped tentatively into its line of sight, leaning into the metal headrest, his eyes focused on the two points of light directly across from them.

The young Jedi was blinded briefly by a bright flash, then startled when the computer spoke to him aloud.

"Welcome to the Gungan Embassy, Anakin Skywalker. Just step right through and one of our staff-members will greet you as soon as possible. Thank you, and have a wonderful day."

He shook off the daze of the light and the voice and took a few steps ahead, then walked through a doorway that fed out into the main lobby. Ten desks, manned during business hours by Gungan staffers, were abandoned now, though their contents appeared to be undisturbed -- a placard with their name and position, as well as office supplies. He was suddenly struck with amusement as he imagined a Gungan flipping through a packet of legal documents. It was a shame he'd never be here to see what actually went on day-to-day.

Anakin spotted an elevator at the far end of the large lobby and made his way toward it, reaching a hand up to the back of his neck and hissing in pain when he touched the charred flesh. This was the worst pain he'd ever felt in his entire life and part of him wanted to just lay down on the floor and hope for the best. Well, that was in effect what he'd planned to do for the moment anyways, he supposed.

As he walked past the last desk, he was spooked but a low, rumbling groan, nearly jumping out of his skin when he turned and saw a man lying in a heap on the floor, his body covered head to foot in severe, appalling burns. He stepped cautiously toward him, then crouched beside him. A tentative hand found a patch of the fabric that remained of the man's shirt and Anakin used it to pull him up against the side of the desk.

The man cried out in agony and Anakin nearly pulled his hand away. He didn't, though, holding on to that one small patch of cloth and keeping him upright. The padawan watched him a moment, dismayed by the horrifying burns that covered almost every inch of his face. When the man opened his eyes and faced him, Anakin's heart sank as he realized it was LeClark, one of the palace guards.

"Oh... oh, shit... oh my... oh, Force..." he mumbled, his eyes filling with tears at the pitiful sight. What had these butchers done? "Lieutenant... LeClark, can you hear me?"

Slowly, very slowly, as if there were hundred pound weights on each lid, his eyes opened and met Anakin's. No, just one eye. The other had been rendered useless.

Anakin looked at him with something that went well beyond pity and well beyond sympathy and well beyond empathy. He looked at him as if he'd not only lived LeClark's hurt before, but was also responsible for its cause and its cure, as if the path of this man's life had landed on his desk and got lost in a mound of paper work, doomed not by the will of some cosmic power, but by some malevolent buearucracy whose sole reason for being was to inefficiently distribute pain to the good-hearted.

"They... they... th... th... they... th... they..."

It could barely be called a voice, sounding more like some post-mortem twitch of the vocal cords.

"Th... they..."

Anakin began to cry now, silent tears that he wasn't even aware of. He cradled LeClark's head against his shoulder, unmindful of the burns on his face. The palace guard was too far gone to notice.

"Th... th... th... they..."

The Jedi suppressed a shudder, leaning down to whisper into what was left of the young man's ear.

"They what?"

"Th... th... th... th... th... they... they... I... I... I..."

He laid his cheek atop the man's head.

"You what?"

LeClark regurgitated several milliliters of blood.

"I... I... I... I... I... I... tried."

Anakin's tears came faster now. He held the man to him tighter.

"I know," he whispered thickly. "I know you did."

LeClark convulsed and spit up even more blood, his body wracked with tremors.

"Sh... sh... sh... shou... should... shou... should... ha... ha... have... duh... duh... done more..."

The Jedi shook his head, moving his lips down toward his ear until they were almost touching.

"No," he said softly. "No. You did so much."

LeClark's body was struck with one long, pained, horrendous paroxysm, and then he was dead. Anakin wept into the remains of his hair, into his burnt scalp.

He'd never handled death very well, despite his peers and elders in the Order trying futilely to convey to him the beauty of the circle of life. Death was death and it was never good. A man being burned to death was tragic. A man dying in his sleep of old age was tragic. He'd seen far too much tragedy and today was no reprieve.

In that moment, he knew that the Force was not the warm, guiding father figure he'd always been led to believe it was, but it was instead a cruel, malignant entity out to settle scores and create new ones with the defenseless and unwilling, trapping all who lived, had lived, or would some day live inside a dark unlit basement, leaving them to die slowly over the span of a lifetime.

What was the point? What was he even fighting for? The Force had turned its back on everything he knew as good. He was disgusted by the title of "Jedi." It was a vapid, worthless moniker poisonous to those who held it. It was a manipulated cog in the ethereal buearucracy which had just robbed LeClark of his life.

The Force reached out to him then, tried to sooth the pain and grief. He pushed it away and embraced disgust, embraced his anger. It felt so good to be angry.

Anakin was torn from his anger's grasp, though, as he heard the automatic doors of the embassy part to accomodate a new visitor. He dropped LeClark's body abruptly onto the floor and he ran as best he could on his injured leg toward the elevator.

The doors parted and he hurried inside. The Jedi looked down at the computer input and keyed in a random floor number. He could make out faintly the voice of the retina scanner from the front entrance.

"Welcome to the Gungan Embassy -"

The doors shut. He wished he'd waited a second longer.

The elevator started up.

* * *

Coloshi's feet felt like some supernatural lead doomed to wade though drying cement for all eternity. He could make out words now, hold a conversation, but the ringing was still there in his ears, loud and intrusive and pain-inducing, and he knew that in all likelihood, it was there to stay. A lot of folks would say he'd never been too good at hearing anyway, a bit headstrong, so maybe it didn't matter so much whatever the case. This would just give him an excuse to ignore people. 

At this point, though, he wasn't sure he'd ignore anyone's company. He'd always had a reputation as somewhat of a lone wolf, but when the going got tough, he knew then that his whole persona had been all talk. Sure, he was still alive, but twelve hours ago, he wouldn't have called that a feat. The sun would set in a few hours and the fighting would only get more dangerous, as if that were possible. He couldn't imagine anything more violent than what he'd seen today. If wishes were horses... well, he'd cash his in for another life.

He looked over at Obi-Wan, who held his tender right arm to his waist, dulling the pain just a bit without making it look conspicuous. Obi-Wan's slight limp didn't go unnoticed by him either. The Jedi looked like he'd been through quite an ordeal already, and Coloshi was certain his own injuries must have carried that implication in Obi-Wan's mind as well. He couldn't be certain, though, for his companion wasn't much in the talking mood.

Every minute or so, Obi-Wan would flinch. The soldier had chalked it up to pain at first, but now he wasn't quite so sure.

"Master Kenobi?" The Jedi looked over. "Are you all right?"

Obi-Wan met his eyes and offered what he'd meant as a smile, but what had instead manifested itself as a grimace. He looked Coloshi over and pondered telling him the truth, weighing the pros and cons. Certainly, the man looked frightened, but he was just that, a man in an army of boys. Somehow, he know Coloshi could handle it.

"Yes... yes..." he said, reticently at first. "It's just a... disturbance in the force..."

"A disturbance?"

The Jedi looked away. He really didn't want to get into this right now, not when he was having so much trouble digesting the information himself. It was like a million of his own children dying every time he felt that flash of energy and pain and despair through the Force. It was so overwhelming that it was all he could do to remain aloof instead of breaking down in tears.

"I feel it every time... a Jedi dies."

Coloshi blanched at that. Whatever he'd been expecting, that hadn't been it. The calm he'd felt at having found a Jedi to share the burden of this war evaporated and left in its place a bone-chilling emptiness that made him want to lay down and die, or at least to never move. He wasn't quite sure why Obi-Wan's confession was the catalyst, but he knew now that his life was over, a least a life bearing any resemblance to the one he'd previously known.

"How many?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the stretch of concrete ahead of him.

Obi-Wan sighed.

"I don't know," the Master said, his voice strained in its efforts to conceal his emotion. "But there's more dead than alive."

Those were not the words the soldier wanted to hear and his reaction betrayed that fact. Obi-Wan wished he'd never said anything at all. This man needed no more weight on his broad but overtaxed shoulders. He resolved to say nothing more, save that which was pertinent to their survival. There was nothing to say anyways, nothing short of a eulogy at least.

"Can we win this war?"

Obi-Wan thought of Padme dead or dying, thought of Padme living out her days in caves that obscured her beautiful face. He thought of kisses that had ended too abruptly, of words they'd not had time to speak, of a nobility consecrated by her love. Those flashes of her in his mind's eye calcified his resolve.

"Yes," he said. "There is no darkness which could so conceal this sun that men of pure heart could not drag it into the light. The Force will not decide our destiny for the better or the worse, but will committ our fate instead to the free will residing in each of our hearts. There is no entity or person, living or dead, who will stop us from tearing this gentle world from the claws of evil's opacity. One way or another, this war will be a victory.

Whether by attrition or intrepidity, we will claim a victory for all things good and bury in this life's darkest hole those things which corrupt and lay claim to the souls of the lost and wavering. And when we've secured the future, we will pick up those pieces of our lives which remain and we will find some permutation to fit them back together. We'll kiss whoever's left and we'll hold them until we die."

Coloshi stared at him a moment, then nodded. That was all he could do. His rifle felt ten pounds lighter.

* * *

Padme's red eyes had reclaimed some of their original whiteness, but showed still signs of too much time spent in anguish. She hadn't said anything since the ambush, hadn't commented on the brutality of it. Even as she'd heard him fire that last shot, she knew it was paramount to their survival that he did. 

But that didn't shake the feeling that it was all very, very wrong, that no war was worth that cost, that dehumanization. While she made peace with the fact that Brummel had not acted on an immoral impulse but rather out of duty and self-preservation, the encounter had proven to her that there were no lengths the Jedi would not go to to ensure her survival. The thought both calmed and terrified her.

She knew she wasn't the only one thinking about the incident. The stoic expression of her protector, once softened by her voice and friendship, was now firmly back in place, shielding him from knowing eyes and an acknowledgement of the pain he felt. Padme wondered what might have happened if she'd accepted his initial plan. Where would she be -- dead, captured? Where would he be -- dead, captured, some chamber of torture? He took his oath very seriously, more seriously than her if it was possible.

Brummel's piercing scream ripped her out of reverie.

He sank to his knees, hands clawing at his head as if he could tear from his brain the all-consuming barrage of images assaulting his every sense, his every liter of blood. It was so hard to make out, one voice in all the millions, a voice he didn't recognize, images that were unfamiliar. His screams got louder.

Padme dropped to her knees at his side, trying unsuccessfully to grab and keep hold of his face.

"Brummel? Brummel, talk to me. What is it?"

He swatted her hands away with stolen gusto, but they just kept coming back to his cheeks, relentless, soothing.

This was scaring her a great deal more than anything to do with their last encounter. She prayed to all the unseen commodities she could think of -- the Force, deities, the spirit of nature -- and willed her friend to open his eyes, so that she might see some sign that the man she knew was still in there and had not been swapped for the frenzied cry that filled the darkening evening.

"Brummel, you're scaring me! Answer me!"

He fought up off of his knees and back to his feet, only to lose his footing as soon as he'd won it and fall back onto the filthy ground in a mild fit of convulsions.

Padme crawled back to his side, grabbing his head and turning it toward her, then prying open his eyes to find the pupils moving as they would if he were dreaming. She took a few frustrated, confused breaths, her heart quickening its pace with each one. What the hell was going on? This was reminiscent of Obi-Wan's fit all those hours ago. Was he seeing something? Was the Force making him a prognosticator against his will? She didn't imagine it would be the first time. The senator ran a wild hand over her face, then turned it on the Jedi and brushed it through his hair.

The images slowed and the vision crystallized at last -- the Republic dying in the streets of Theed, Obi-Wan battered and bloodied, the iron curtain falling over the galaxy.

* * *

Anakin moved very slowly in his crouch past the next cubicle, stopping to grip the corner for a moment when he felt himself faltering. Whoever this was that had followed him up from the lobby, they were very attuned to the Force, a Sith most likely. He felt a surge of anger as he supposed it was probably Padme's would-be assassin stalking about the floor with steps so deliberate and foreboding, he almost made the act of walking obscene. 

"Your thoughts betray you," Ovid called out. "They linger on the senator."

The padawan stiffened, squeezing his eyes shut and trying desperately to block out his thoughts, but finding it was useless. He was too emotional after his encounter with LeClark and the musings it had inspired. In a million years of meditating, he wouldn't have been able to shut out the Sith lord, whose skills he thought perhaps eclipsed his own.

Too many years believing his own hype had made him arrogant, but in this moment, he doubted himself for the first time he could remember. He wished Obi-Wan were here.

"Master Kenobi cannot save you now. He's already dead."

"You're lying!" Anakin screamed out against his will, giving up his position. "You son of a bitch!"

He sprung to his feet, igniting his lightsaber and hopping up on top of the nearest cubicle partition, leaping from one to the next like some surreal tight rope act that would leave its observors in stunned silence.

Ovid turned and ignited his own lightsaber, lifting the red blade just in time to block Anakin's bold diving attack from atop the last cubicle. The Sith deflected the blow easily and sent Anakin sliding across the smooth floor back toward the elevator from which they'd both come. He quickly got back to his feet.

"You are a disappointment," the dark man said. "Lord Sidius holds you in such high regard."

Anakin ignored his words, concentrating on the man himself, all but invisible inside a heavy black cloak that obscured everything except his red eyes, which glowed with such swirling loathing that it was almost overkill. The padawan took great exception that Ovid hadn't bothered to remove his incumbering attire. He would make him rethink that decision.

"I don't particularly care what regard he holds me in," the boy said, his undying self-confidence returning from its brief hiatus. "You won't get the chance to tell him that, though, I'm afraid."

Ovid let out some vile sound that was a confection of depraved laughter and breath made laborous by the anticipation of pleasure.

"Your arrogance makes you weak. Your fear makes you weak. Only with your anger can you strike me down."

Anakin reached out to the Force to calm him, knowing it forgave him all his transgressions of the previous few minutes. He sought its soothing touch on his turmoiled soul, begged it to make right what he'd almost made wrong. After a moment, he could feel the fear drain out of him, feel the anger dissipate.

"I know what you are," the padawan said. "And I will send you back from whence you came. I will consign you once more to the depths of Hell. I do not fear you."

Ovid took several steps toward him. They began to circle around each other.

"You should," the Sith said. "You are beyond the scope of your abilities."

Anakin gripped his lightsaber with both hands.

"I think you're in for a rather rude awakening."

Though he couldn't see the rest of his face, the padawan thought he could sense his opponent smiling just by looking in his eyes.

"I do hope you put up more of a fight than Master Kenobi did," Ovid said, drawing from Anakin the glared he'd set out to. "Certainly, I hope you're more of a challenge than Senator Amidala was."

That set Anakin off. He lunged toward the Sith with reckless abandon, easily countered on his first several attacks, then sent back toward the wall on the defensive.

While Ovid's movements were fluid and effortless, Anakin's were lumbering and energy-sapping. The Sith swung down from above with heavy blows that nearly knocked the lightsaber from the padawan's grasp. It was all he could do not to drop it. Any thoughts of an offensive were gone now. He was just trying to survive.

When the Sith went abruptly for a head blow, Anakin saw his opening, ducking and rolling out of the way as the red blade struck the metal wall, drawing a flickering series of sparks. The Jedi cocked his legs back and kipped up to a standing position, swinging his green blade powerfully toward Ovid's shoulder. But the cloaked man blocked it easily and used his superior strength and leverage to push Anakin back several feet.

"You are a boy, not a man," Ovid taunted. "You've sealed your fate by believing otherwise."

Anakin shut his eyes and concentrated.

"You'll want to rethink that."

Ovid turned in surprise at just the same moment as a cubicle wall, torn from the floor and sent shooting as a projecticle, struck him full-on and knocked him onto his back, where he lay dazed and unmoving for several seconds.

Anakin saw it for the opportunity that it was, dashing toward the elevator, stepping inside and closing it behind him.

The Sith shook the fog from his brain and sat up. That had been rather unexpected. Perhaps he'd underestimated the boy. It was a mistake he would surely not repeat.

Ovid stood up and discarded his cloak, revealing a gaunt black face that looked almost painted-on, for one could see the structure of every bone in his head, anchored by those hideous red eyes.

He stepped over toward the elevator, but the doors wouldn't open when he prompted them to, so he gripped each side with one hand and began to pry them apart manually. It took him several seconds, but when he'd opened them enough to fit through, he slipped inside. Nothing.

A glance at the ceiling revealed a large circular hole undoubtedly carved out by a lightsaber.

"Clever boy."

* * *

Brummel opened his eyes to find Padme leaning over him, no more than eight inches from his face. It took him a moment to reacquaint himself with his surroundings and with what it was that had put that look of near-panic on the senator's face. He sat up, taking special notice that she had restrained from assisting him in that endeavor, as if she presumed his pride might be damaged by the gesture. When he'd righted himself, he offered a disarming smile. 

"My apologies, m'lady."

She watched him carefully to guage his reactions.

"What happened?"

The padawan stood, running a hand through his hair, beginning to pace.

This was a rather delicate situation. If he shared this with her, he knew what her reaction would be. Hell, he was having enough trouble justifying things to himself. If he told her what he'd seen, her first inclination would be the same as his -- to go the Theed. It was calling him, the Force was, to the center of the capital. He couldn't quite say why, except perhaps for the vision of Obi-Wan outnumbered, but there was just something pulling him there. He felt the pull of his promise to protect Padme too, though. The two together created a sensation not unlike being drawn and quartered in the town square.

"I had a vision... of sorts."

Padme paralleled his movements now as he walked back and forth.

"What did you see?"

He gave no indication that he planned to answer that question, lost in some fleeting train of thought he was desperate not to derail. These Jedi were the most stubborn breed she'd ever met. Whatever it was, it had him spooked. Given their present circumstance, that spoke volumes.

The senator stepped in front of him and blocked his path.

"Brummel... what is it?"

He sighed and stepped around her, resuming his pacing.

"The Force is pulling me toward Theed."

"Pulling you?"

"Calling me... telling me I'm supposed to be there, but I can't."

Padme laid a hand on his forearm, gripping it when he kept moving. That stopped him.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that every fiber in my being is telling me that I need to go to Theed. And at the same time, every fiber in my being tells me that's the last place I need to be because it's an unacceptable risk to take you there with me and I certainly can't leave you out here to fend for yourself. There's no right answer and it's driving me out of my mind."

Her grip tightened on his arm.

"Brummel, you obviously had that vision for a reason. We can't risk the fate of the galaxy because you promised Obi-Wan I'd be okay. This is bigger than me."

The padawan looked her straight in the eye.

"Not to him, it isn't."

The look-at-the-big-picture argument wasn't working. She'd have to go a different route, something that allowed him to subvert the spirit of his promise to Obi-Wan without breaking it completely. Padme would need to come up with something quickly. She could feel the door shutting on this argument and once it did, there would be no way to break through his layers and layers of duty and self-sacrifice.

"Brummel..." she said sweetly. "The only way you can _really_ keep me safe is to end this war. And if you can help to end it by going to Theed, then that's just a component of the promise you made to Obi-Wan. You're protecting me by _going_, not by ignoring your vision."

She held her breath, waiting for some reaction out of the Jedi. When she heard his sigh of defeat, she knew it had worked.

"We can't make it there by foot," he said.

"Then, we'll just have to commandeer a vehicle."

"Oh, is that all?" he asked, smirking. "Vehicles tend to draw attention, especially in Theed. We can't just roll into the capital in a land-cruiser."

Padme shrugged as if the details were trivial.

"Then we'll take something most of the way, ditch it a couple miles out, and walk the rest of it."

"Why do I get the feeling that I'm going to look back on this as the moment where it all went wrong?"

Padme smiled meekly.

"You're the harbinger, Master Jedi. You tell me."

Brummel laughed softly and readjusted his pack, retrieving his fallen blaster from the ground. Everything in his body ached. He could tell from Padme's posture that she had her own aches as well.

The padawan gestured ahead of him.

"After you, m'lady. I do believe you have us a vehicle to commandeer."

* * *

They could finally make out the fighting from this distance. Two dozen Gungan and Naboo servicemen fought a losing battle to hold onto the bridge a hundred feet from where the Jedi and the soldier stood. Obi-Wan surmised that there were at least sixty soldiers loyal to the Chancellor engaging them, and quite successfully at that, forcing outnumbered coalition fighters from the far side of the bridge back across to the side where he and Coloshi watched from a safe distance. 

Three coalition men didn't survive the brief journey. Those who did found the most defendable positions they could under the circumstances, but they were hardly safe, as was evidenced when two more took fatal shots from the clones, who now controlled the bridge and advanced across double-file.

"We have to help them," Obi-Wan said, reaching for his lightsaber. He felt a hand on his arm. "_We_ _have to help them_."

Coloshi gripped tighter when the Jedi started to walk, moving around front of him to black his path.

"Master Kenobi, walking into that fight is suicide. We're no good to anyone if we don't make smart choices. We can't fight this war if we're dead."

Obi-Wan shrugged off Coloshi's hand.

"Irab, this _is_ the war!" he exclaimed, his words laced with a passion his companion found unbecoming of a Jedi. "Don't you see? If we walk away from this, then we're just going to see another and another and another. We can keep saying, 'we'll fight when the numbers are better, we'll fight when it's a safer bet,' but what happens when everyone's dead and there's no fight left to win?"

Coloshi sighed and looked away. The Jedi had a point. This was the likely state of the war no matter where they went. There would be no men who could ultimately repel the Chancellor's army and sustain their numbers and position. He'd taken an oath, promised to give his last breath in defense of his home.

He nodded grimly.

"All right," the soldier said, offering Obi-Wan his rifle. "I'll go, you cover me."

Obi-Wan refused the proffer.

"No, you hold onto that. We're going straight in and I want you behind me the whole way."

Coloshi shook his head, unaccepting.

"Master Kenobi, I appreciate the sentiment, but -"

The matter was closed for discussion, he realized, once the Jedi fixed on him a resolute glare. Coloshi didn't bother finishing his sentence, except inside his head, where the result was the same anyways. He pulled a power cell from his jacket and clicked it into the receiver on the bottom of his rifle.

"I don't suppose we'll have the element of surprise," the soldier said

Obi-Wan nodded.

"Quite right."

Coloshi could have sworn he saw some hint of amusement in the man's eyes when he said it. This was not what he'd expected of a Jedi, certainly not one of Obi-Wan's reputation. It hadn't really sunk in yet that he was in the company of the Sith-killer who'd helped to save his planet from certain despair seven years back. Then again, there wasn't much about this day which _had_ sunk in.

The ignition of Obi-Wan's lightsaber drew him out of that musing and back to the task at hand.

"Are you ready?"

"Not at all," Coloshi replied with a weak lopsided smile, nodding his head toward the struggle at the bridge. "Jedi first."

Obi-Wan took off in a brisk run that impressed the soldier to no end, given the limp he'd been fashioning all throughout their walk.

Coloshi tried to keep behind him, a task made difficult by the Jedi's surprising speed and by his own concussion, which made him feel as if his brain had gotten loose and was rattling around in his head, searching endlessly for a niche that had long since disintegrated.

The venerable young Master deflected easily the first barrage of fire that came in when they'd closed the gap to thirty feet. It looked as if the fight was breaking down into hand-to-hand combat between the fifteen remaining Gungan and Naboo militiamen and the forty-eight remaining clones.

He could make out all the fighting now and wished that that weren't the case when he saw a knife penetrate a young man's chest, then watched as one of the clones twisted it and pulled it up through his breast to make the experience of dying as excruciating as possible.

For a moment, he felt anger, but it passed quickly, replaced by feelings of sadness and compassion, feelings he'd grown accustomed to over the course of his life, feelings that allowed him to retain his emotions and humanity without succumbing to the darkness.

When they came up on the struggle, Coloshi rolled out from behind Obi-Wan and laid down a wide field of blaster fire, taking out several clones who had his fellow people in compromising positions. He sank to his knees and ducked behind a trio of bodies piled on top of each other like some organic stack of hay. The soldier came up carefully every few seconds to take a few shots, then ducked back down when the clones returned fire.

Obi-Wan wove through a crowd of the Chancellor's lackeys with relative ease, blocking a point-blank shot and watching with no pleasure as it was deflected back at its shooter and tore the flesh and bone and cartilage from the man's face and left him dead.

He was the reluctant orchestrator of a syphomony of violence, slashing and jabbing and thrusting, severing limbs and heads and leaving holes in men's bodies so precise that some couldn't tell they'd been wounded until they took their final breath and dropped to the ground. The trail of dead totalled fifteen by the time he'd worked his way through the dense gathering.

Obi-Wan spared a glance to see how Coloshi was doing, then turned and impaled an oncoming clone. Another pair came at him from each side, but he was too quick for them, ducking and watching as they shot each other by mistake.

He watched as an injured Gungan crawled toward one of the clones, trying to use his adversary's pants to pull himself up. The clone shot him in the back of the head to put to an end to that. Obi-Wan flipped adroitly into the air over another struggle between a Naboo and a clone, landing just behind the one he'd seen mercilessly execute the young Gungan moments prior. The clone turned around in surprise, letting out a startled, strangled moan when he felt the Jedi's blue blade insculp a deep laceration from his collar bone to his stomach. He fell to the ground and shared his last moments with the Gungan's corpse.

Another one came up behind Obi-Wan, but he sensed it in time, flicking his arm up and over his shoulder, blindly stabbing the clone through the center of his chest.

He looked around and saw the collective eyes of the twenty-eight remaining clones narrow on him as they killed the last Naboo. His first inclination was to seek out Coloshi and he saw his unmoving form sprawled out on the ground, his gun half-gone from his grasp. Obi-Wan looked black at the clones, wondering what they were waiting for. Perhaps they weren't terribly confident after the way he'd handled the others.

Still, he wasn't certain that he could take care of this many by himself. He certainly wasn't going to give himself up, though. A glance toward the bridge provided him his solution.

Turning off his lightsaber, Obi-Wan acted for a moment as if he might capitulate, then leapt through the air well over the heads of the mass of clones, who were too surprised to open fire on him. That gave him the head start he needed and he began to run across the bridge toward the other side.

A glance back showed he was well out ahead of them and the clones weren't yet ready to waste their fire. He wondered if they were beleagued, separated from their main unit, perhaps conserving ammunition. It looked like he would be home free when he reached the middle, but his luck didn't hold out.

Another score of clones, at least twenty but perhaps more, had appeared on the other side of the bridge. They stepped onto it and walked toward him methodically. Those from the side he was coming from stepped in sync with the new arrivals.

Obi-Wan was helpless in the middle of the bridge. If he jumped, the fall would most likely kill him. If he fought, the odds were very much against him prevailing. He shut his eyes and sought the soothing presence of the Force. It did little to calm him, though, so he thought of Padme.

When the processions of troops were within ten feet on each side, they stopped, their guns lowered as if they didn't fear they were in any danger. The Jedi turned so that there was one stream of clones to his left and one to his right now. He wondered why they didn't just shoot him.

"You will make a wonderful gift to the Chancellor," said the lead man to his left. "You are vastly outnumbered. You cannot win. You've failed, Jedi. Now throw your weapon over the bridge and surrender."

Obi-Wan ignited his lightsaber.

"That will be the day."


	16. Another Fine Mess

A/N: All right, I'm not quite sure how this chapter came together or if there's any confusion at all. Hopefully not. Thanks to you all for your readership. Much obliged. We're going to continue along here. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

The lead man lifted his blaster, drawing from the rest of the men on each side of Obi-Wan a similar reaction. He looked calmly back and forth between the two groups, his lightsaber gripped firmly in his right hand.

"I wouldn't do that, Jedi," the leader said. "It goes into the water or you die right here."

Obi-Wan didn't flinch.

"If I die, I leave behind a life spent defending something," he said. "Something that will live on. You can't kill me."

He turned and faced the leader directly now, his back completely exposed to the myriad troops on the other side of him.

"You can try. You can shoot me and bludgeon me and burn me, but from that fire, the embers of the good and decent will emerge."

It was obvious that none of his rhetoric would sway any of the mindless sheep to do anything except that which they'd been ordered to. But still, the question lingered: why hadn't they just shot him as soon as the occasion had presented itself? Had so many Jedi perished that those who lived were now novelties? Was Palpatine collecting them for some zoo or to force them to watch the galaxy die? It was apparent these soldiers were acting on orders. The Jedi were being exterminated. Perhaps the Chancellor just wanted the pleasure of killing the last few or last one personally.

"If you must strike me down, then it will be on this bridge," Obi-Wan said. "It will be here and nowhere else. You will not take me. I will not surrender so long as I live."

He staggered a bit, his vision blurred. His sickness was interjecting itself again at a rather inopportune time. The movement had nearly startled the clones into shooting him right there. His only advantage was that their love affair with obedience outweighed their desire to kill him.

"Your bloated words are light on substance, Jedi," the leader said. "You will seek to preserve your life as we all would. You presume to be better than all others. You refuse to acknowledge that you and I are the same."

Obi-Wan shook his head.

"I am better than no man, but understand that you and I are not the same. We are two imperfect, equal creatures. The difference is, I want to be more than I am."

The leader grunted, his grip on his gun tightening. Obi-Wan was intrigued that he'd managed to frustrate the man to such an extent. It was obvious these men were ruthlessly efficient, but here the Chancellor's puppet exhibited the unexpected symptoms of a personality. He didn't suppose that helped him at all, though. If anything, that fact just increased the likelihood that he'd be shot.

"I tire of your games and your double talk. You have ten seconds. After that, we will kill you and drag your carcass through the streets of Theed, and then we will drop you at the feet of our Chancellor."

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and exhaled. He pictured Padme and Brummel secluded in some cave far, far away from any danger like that he faced in the present. He pictured Anakin fighting the good fight, turning despair into hope wherever he could. He pictured his corpse paying coerced tribute to Palpatine. It had occurred to him that if he surrendered himself to the clones now, then he might be so lucky as to find an opportunity to take a crack at the Chancellor.

He supposed the leader had been right. Every man sought to preserve his corporeal existence at any cost. That was part of the biological make-up of all sentient beings. It was seldom a cause ever became a more precious commodity than life itself. Deep down, he knew that if surrendered here, his involvement in deciding the outcome of this war would be at an end. He would live, but he wouldn't really. Darkness would fall on the galaxy and he would hide weeping in the shadows lamenting what once was. Four words resonated in his mind, arguing both sides: life is so precious.

Obi-Wan looked down, turning off his lightsaber. He took a moment to gather himself, his expression one of humiliated defeat.

"All right," he said softly. "All right."

The leader took a few steps forward, two other clones in tow. He looked very satisfied. No, more than that. He looked euphoric, as if this were the first time he'd ever felt joy. It was.

"I have just one thing to say," the Jedi said, raising his head to meet the leader's eyes with his own demoralized optics.

The leader's rancorous grin widened.

"What's that?"

Obi-Wan's expression changed.

"You can all go straight to Hell."

The blue blade of his lightsaber came back to life, slashing the throat of the leader, then striking mortal blows on the two just behind him.

By the time any of the clones reacted, Obi-Wan had felled two more. One single slash and then he flowed on to the next, like a pen writing cursive letters, never lifting up off of the page. There was no wasted motion, just the kind of efficient brutality born whenever a man is backed into a corner.

He still had his back to more than twenty armed men, but he, in consort with the Force, was able to anticipate their shots for a time, ducking and dodging at just the right moments as he continued on down the line laying waste to everyone in his path. Ten men lay dead or dying in his wake already. Those still ahead were too frazzled to even get off a shot.

A sharp, sudden pain surged through Obi-Wan's shoulder and he lost his grip on his lightsaber, dropping it onto the bridge, where it deactivated and lay inert. He staggered, spinning abruptly around in his agony toward the other group, still twenty men strong.

The three at the front all let loose a volley of shots on the swaying Jedi. Four more blasts caught human flesh, two in the chest, one in his injured arm, and the last a grazing shot that nicked the corner of his forehead. The hits took him off his feet, sent him careening backward onto the metal floor of the bridge, where he struck his head and lay unmoving.

It didn't take long for the vultures to circle. The unharmed clones gathered around Obi-Wan's body, the deaths of their fellow infantrymen forgotten. Six of them leveled their guns on the Jedi. One of them knelt down to take his pulse.

"Is he alive?"

* * *

Brummel watched the explosions in orbit, wondering how the fight was going up there, but getting a sinking feeling in his gut that there was no use being optimistic. As soon as Palpatine's forces had secured a victory up above, he knew that they would be surface-bound to supplement and reinforce the army waging war down here. It wasn't as if they needed the help, though. Each of the large-scale battles he and Padme had witnessed at a safe distance were massacres. The coalition hardly stood a chance in any engagement. It would seem the only place he could turn the tide was in Theed, but he still wasn't certain at all why the Force called him there over any other location.

"Did you know your parents, Brummel?"

He'd almost forgotten she was there. That was an interesting question. It was interesting time to ask it to. He turned and met her eyes, searching them for some hidden meaning.

"No, I don't have any memory of them."

Padme wondered if his neutral tone was indicative of his feelings regarding that fact or whether it was more of the same emotional repression the Jedi were so famous for.

"Do you wish you did?"

Even as he engaged her in conversation, she could see his eyes always moving, always taking in every last nuance of their surroundings. He would placate her with an exchange of words, but his duty never strayed far from his mind.

"I don't know," Brummel said. "It would be nice to know where I came from, but I have no loss to mourn, for I've known nothing besides the Order and Master Yoda and Master Saduj."

"So, curiosity, but no sadness?"

She could see by his reaction that that assessment hadn't been accurate. When he didn't say anything, she decided to push a little bit.

"Master Saduj must be like your father then."

Brummel shook his head and she could see now that there was now curiosity at all, but that it was in fact only sadness that he felt.

"He is a very warm man," the Jedi said. "But if I am candid, that warmth has never rang true with me. I suppose that's a terribly ungreatful thing to say, but my comfort level is nowhere near where it should be in the Master-padawan relationship."

If the confession had surprised his companion, she didn't show it. Her voice was soft and soothing and filled with a warmth that did ring true when she spoke again.

"I imagine you spend most of your time with your peers anyway," she said. "Or charming the eligible young ladies of Courscant."

Brummel smiled sadly, his eyes still very much on task.

"I don't spend very much time with anyone, m'lady. I'm regarded as somewhat of a recluse."

Padme frowned at that, but the Jedi didn't notice. That came as a great surprise to her. His dry wit and gentle heart were things which she'd surmised had won him a great deal of friends and acquaintances.

"I find that rather hard to believe. Are you certain you're not mistaken?"

"Quite, m'lady. My fellow padawans find me a bit too... serious... for their tastes. They have somewhat of a difficult time relating, being that I don't have any horror stories about Master Windu or Master Yoda reprimanding me."

Padme squeezed his shoulder, drawing from him a surprised expression. She smiled and let her hand drop.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Brummel. You do take things seriously, but that's not a bad thing. Quite on the contrary, it's the reason we're still alive," she said. "But that's not all there is to you. I'm certain of that. You have a rather dry tongue, one I enjoy a great deal. In fact, you remind me of Obi-Wan when I first met him."

It had been a rather sudden connection she'd made, one she'd tacked on as somewhat of an afterthought, but the expression of delight on his face made her quite happy the words had escaped her. The things she would do to put that look on his face and keep it there.

"Thank you very much, m'lady. Those are the nicest words anyone's spoken to me before."

Padme's smile nearly matched his.

"You're very welcome. I see a great deal of Obi-Wan in you," she said. "He'll be very proud of you if we see him again."

Her smile faded on those last words. Brummel turned and watched her, taking in the melancholy that spread slowly through her eyes like a stain on a carpet. The things he would do to take that pain away and keep it buried.

"When, m'lady. _When_ we see him again."

She nodded, but it didn't look like she was convinced. The thought of Obi-Wan's demise stirred up within her musings on the metaphysical. Despite the oversaturation of the Force in her recent considerations, she hadn't thought about the nature of the Force, what it was, in a long time. She'd always sort of figured that the Force was inconsequential to her, that because she wasn't a Jedi, it had no impact on her. It was odd, Padme thought, that she had always believed the Force to exist, having witnessed its reality first-hand, but that she had never connected it to any of her considerations about the great hereafter.

"Brummel?"

"Yes?"

"What happens to us when we die?"

He took a breath and considered his words, wondering why the thought occurred to her now, but asking for no explanation.

"Something wonderful, m'lady," the Jedi said, his voice gentle and nurturing and unassuming. "Once we leave our solid forms behind us, we become a part of something much greater. We enrich all those things we leave behind by becoming one with the Force, with the universe. We give back tenfold all those things which we took in life. Our journey has come to its end, but we help to guide all those whose flesh is still warm. We are pure essence and our essence is for the first time pure.

All the mistakes we've made become the soil like our bodies. The only thing left is the good we are and the good we've done, just righteous energy which helps smooth down the creases of evil still at large among the living. There is no pain, only everlasting joy, only you and virtue and the Force."

Padme felt the prickling of tears in her eyes.

"Sounds like eternal damnation without Obi-Wan."

Brummel nodded, his voice soft.

"Quite right, m'lady."

* * *

_"Obi-Wan."_

_The voice was familiar._

_"Obi-Wan."_

_It was so insistent._

_"Obi-Wan."_

_Firm, but so warm._

_"Obi-Wan."_

_He opened his eyes and met that familiar fatherly gaze._

_"Master!"_

_Qui-Gon smiled, reaching a hand down and hauling his apprentice to his feet. Obi-Wan looked around, took in the endless whiteness to all sides. This felt unfamiliar and wrong._

_"Master, where am I?" he asked, his voice wavering. "Have I died?"_

_The elder man lay a comforting hand on his shoulder._

_"No, Obi-Wan, you have not died. I've brought you here because the Force demanded it, because it demands something of you now."_

_"I don't understand."_

_Qui-Gon removed his hand and took a few steps away, hands clasped behind his back in that prosaic way of his._

_"Obi-Wan, there are no guarantees anymore. You know this."_

_"Yes, Master. I've felt it."_

_"I cannot promise you this war will be won. In fact, the odds are quite against it. All I can tell you is that platoons will not win this war on land. Fighter pilots will not win this war in space. It will decided by two men."_

_Obi-Wan stepped closer._

_"Who, Master? Which two men?"_

_"The Force has dictated but one. Chancellor Palpatine, the Sith Lord Darth Sidius. The other remainins undecided. His destiny will be written by his own hand."_

_Obi-Wan turned around, running a hand through his hair._

_"Master Yoda or Master Windu. It must be. They are the only two men strong enough to win that battle," the apprentice reasoned. "Where are they, Master? Do they still live?"_

_Qui-Gon nodded. "They still live, padawan. But it will not be Master Yoda. He awaits the dawn with the younglings."_

_"Then Master Windu. It's Master Windu. He must defeat the Chancellor. We must go Theed so that he may confront him. Where is he, Master?"_

_"He is not far, Obi-Wan," the departed Jedi said. "But you must rise. You must rise and fight, my boy. You must be stronger than you've ever been before. You must be stronger than I ever taught you to be, than I myself could ever be."_

_Obi-Wan met his father's gaze determinedly._

_"I will be stronger than any man has ever been."_

_"But be patient, padawan. Wait for the right moment. Your current situation does not favor rashness."_

_"I understand, Master."_

_Qui-Gon smiled, raising a hand and laying it on the young man's cheek._

_"I'm very proud of you," he said. "I love you, boy."_

_The young Master had never heard those words before, never even hoped to hear them, but when they were spoken, it felt as if his entire life had been exposition meant to build up to just that moment. He covered Qui-Gon's hand with his own._

_"Go now, Obi-Wan..."_

It didn't take long for the vultures to circle. The unharmed clones gathered around Obi-Wan's body, the deaths of their fellow infantrymen forgotten. Six of them leveled their guns on the Jedi. One of them knelt down to take his pulse.

"Is he alive?"

"Yes," he said, rising to his feet now and training his own weapon on the fallen Master. "But we shall rectify that."

* * *

Brummel adjusted the zoom on the binoculars, widening the shot. There were at least two hundred of them beside the small transport. It appeared that they were being briefed by a superior, who stood about fifteen feet from the nearest row of twenty clones and gestured broadly and emphatically with sweeping movements in no debt at all to the art of subtle motivation.

"There's certainly no way we'd get out of here undetected. They'd scatter half a fleet to look for us. We'd need at least twenty minutes to get anywhere near Theed and then we'd have to set down without being detected or we'd be dead ducks on foot."

Padme smiled.

"Dead ducks?"

"An expression."

"Yes, an odd one."

Brummel smiled himself.

"You can substitute any mammal you'd like, m'lady. My point remains the same."

Her expression sobered. This wasn't the first time the odds hadn't been in her favor, and if her luck held out, it wouldn't be the last. She watched Brummel watching the clones, looking for any sign of confidence or lack thereof, noting the absence of fear in his eyes and the absence of tremors in his hands. He appeared calm.

"We could always keep going," she said. "We could find something else."

Brummel kept his eyes on the clones.

"As difficult as you may find this to believe, Senator, I'm not certain we'll find any opportunity the success of which is more plausible than that of this instance."

Padme looked back at the myriad of clones.

"Well, there's your bright news from Brummel Carde," she said. "If you ever need to feel worse about a horrible situation, just track him down and he'll do the rest."

To her surprise, the padawan laughed at that, his expression claimed by an easy grin that she'd never seen before. He lay a hand on her shoulder, patting it and then leaving it there. She couldn't help but smile back at him, at this glimpse of something he rarely showed. His eyes held that same mischief as she'd seen in Obi-Wan's, though time and pain and discipline had diluted the Master's just a bit.

"M'lady, I assure you, there's at least a five percent chance that we'll leave here with that transport."

"Oh," she said, a faint smirk on her face. "Well, that's better than four percent, I guess."

He zoomed in on the transport again, trying to guess its capacity by its overall size and the size of the open ramp.

"That doesn't look like one of theirs."

Padme took the binoculars from him, nodding as she got a look at it herself.

"Yes, that's definitely one of ours. I don't imagine they're planning on using it either. It holds maybe ten people, certainly not enough to be worth their while shuttling any of those troops there."

Brummel nodded his agreement, taking the binoculars back and getting another look at the amassed clones.

"Then there's either a ship we can't see from this vantage point or they're waiting on one. I'd bet on the former."

He set the binoculars down and centered himself to gather his thoughts. This was going to be no small task. If there was any hope of taking this transport all the way to the outskirts of Theed, they'd need to disable all other ships on the landing strip. The transport in question certainly couldn't stand up to any attack. Even if it could, they'd lose the element of surprise infiltrating Naboo's capital city. It wouldn't do for the clones here to radio the situation to the rest of the Chancellor's army either.

"This is going to be a rather clandestine operation, Senator."

"My whole life is based on clandestine operations, Master Jedi."

Brummel smirked and stood, motioning for her to follow.

"The blind leading the blind."

* * *

"No, we want him alive."

The clone lowered his weapon in disappointment, but deferred to the defacto leader.

"A pity. I would have rather enjoyed being the one to put this scum down."

He wound his leg back and then delivered a swift, brutal kick to Obi-Wan's ribs, but the unconscious Jedi did not discernably react, much to his assailant's disappointment. The leader shoved him off into the arms of one of the other clones.

"Leave him be or you can explain to the Chancellor why his prize is too far gone to be tortured."

The clone backed off, stepping back behind several of his like-faced counterparts and becoming effectively anonymous. This seemed to be happening more and more of late, disobidence born out of some violent zeal that the men couldn't control. Perhaps there was a defection in the cloning process that hadn't been anticipated. Whatever the case, the situation had been defused.

Obi-Wan stirred, but kept his eyes shut, giving no indication that he'd woken.

The leader looked down at him with perverted delight as he pulled his comm-link from his hip.

"Echo 7, this is Red 2. Do you copy?"

* * *

Brummel slowly brought his head up to get a glimpse of the men through the window. There were three of them, one at a computer console and the other two standing over a communications switchboard, a crude piece of technology that dated the landing strip. He was certain this hadn't been their first choice for a command post. This office was the only building in the vicinity, and building was a term used loosely, given that it measured no more than twenty five feet by twenty five feet.

"It looks as if everything here's routed through that office," the Jedi whispered. "Once we take out the equipment in there, we should find our getaway a slight bit easier. They can communicate with anyone on the planet in there, but the individual comm-links only have a five-mile range."

Padme nodded. She started to reply, but Brummel brought a finger to his lips, gesturing for her to be quiet. The sound of radio static was followed by a conversation they could make out faintly.

"Echo 7, this is Red 2. Do you copy?"

"Copy, Red 2. This is Echo 7. What's your status?"

"We've secured the bridge, but we're going to need reinforcements to continue pushing forward and a heavily armed party to escort our Jedi prisoner."

Padme's eyes widened, meeting Brummel's, who tried in vain to look unaffected. There were any of one thousand Jedi who that could have been. Still, though, it was reasonable to presume that Obi-Wan could have covered this much ground, even on foot. That bridge was only about three miles out from here. They'd taken great care to avoid it.

"Copy that, Red 2. We're going to send along another company. Once they're there, you can move forward and rendezvous with Green 4 in Alajandri."

"Copy, Echo 7. We're standing by. Red 2 out."

The man turned a few dials and adjusted several switches on the switchboard.

"Major, you and your men have a go to join Red 2 at the Yuvan Bridge. You're to proceed on from there to Alajandri to support Green 4."

"Understood."

"You'll need to spare a small party to transport a Jedi prisoner to Theed."

"Copy."

Brummel presumed he'd been talking to the leader of that mass of clones they'd seen just a couple minutes earlier. It surprised him that Palpatine's army was taking any prisoners of war, much less a Jedi. That gave him some hope, at least, that whoever it was might have a chance. Padme was far less hopeful.

"It's him," she whispered.

"M'lady, we can't know that."

"It's _him_, Brummel."

"How do you know?"

"I just know."

He took a moment, letting out a breath and then meeting her gaze with placating eyes.

"Padme, I know how badly you want to see him and I know how worried you are, but there are one thousand different Jedi who that could be."

Her eyes and her resolve hardened.

"Brummel, I can _feel him_. If you have any trust in me whatsoever, if you have any faith in me at all, then believe me. It's Obi-Wan. I know it is."

The padawan sighed and looked away. He certainly trusted her and he certainly had faith in her, but he also knew how easy it was to believe that her mind was playing tricks on her. She had so much love for him and was so desperate to see him again that it was entirely possible that her brain and her heart might be conspiring to dupe her into believing she felt something that she didn't.

But he had to ask himself whether or not he could afford to ignore her. If it was Obi-Wan and they were to live on beyond this day, could he forgive himself if he'd done nothing? Certainly, she would never forgive him. He reached out to the Force in seek of guidance, but it offered him none, just more of the same frustrating neutrality. This was his call.

He turned and nodded.

"All right then. It's Obi-Wan," Brummel said. "This isn't going to be easy. Logically, we should wait until those troops leave because it'll make taking that transport exponentially less difficult."

"But that bridge is less than five miles from here. If we wait for them to leave, Obi-Wan will probably be gone by the time we get there, or at least so heavily guarded that we won't have a chance."

He nodded.

"I know. Which means we're going to have to come up with something quick here because they've got the go-ahead. They'll be out of here in twenty minutes, tops."

Padme looked away. Their chances of taking that transport out from right under the noses of the Chancellor's contigent here were slim at best. Their chances of succeeding in that and then also succeeding in rescuing Obi-Wan from whatever forces held him at the Yuvan Bridge were astronomical.

"Do you know how to fly, m'lady?"

She met his eyes, confusion in her own.

"Not particularly well. Why?"

The senator could see the gears turning in his head and by the expression on his face, she could tell that he was quite certain she wouldn't approve of whatever plan he'd devised.

"If I can come up with an elaborate enough distraction, then you could slip past them and take off."

Padme shook her head.

"And leave me to rescue Obi-Wan by myself?"

Brummel sighed for what felt like the ten-thousandth time that day. It probably was. She was right about his plan. Perhaps it would work if their only objective was for her to secure the transport and take off safely, but there were too many unanswered questions once Obi-Wan was added to the equation.

"I don't have any sage ideas here, Padme. We're low on time. We have to do some -"

His hand flew to his belt for his lightsaber, but the sextet of guns trained on he and Padme convinced him to leave it there. Padme's heart threatened to beat straight through her chest as she looked up into the vacant eyes of four clones. Thoughts of rescuing Obi-Wan became secondary now to finding a scheme to preserve she and Brummel's lives. They would be no good to the Jedi Master dead.

"Stand up slowly," the leader said.

They did so, their hands raised in compliance. Brummel calculated in his head the odds that he could take down the six men without harm coming to he or Padme. If he was alone, he might have tried it, but despite recent developments, his duty to Obi-Wan was to preserve the senator's life. That was his priority.

The leader shoved the barrell of his gun into the center of Brummel's back.

"Move!"

His two captives moved forward reluctantly. The clones hung back a few feet, ready for anything Brummel might try and expectant that he would. The padawan's mind was working overtime toward that end, but Padme's safety could not be guaranteed in any of the scenarios he was going through. All of them contained a significant risk and he wasn't yet ready to put her in harm's way.

Padme was surprised he'd not yet tried to subdue their captors, but supposed he had some scheme in mind and was waiting for the right time. When she looked over and saw the helplessness in his eyes, she knew her supposition had been erroneous. Her heart constricted as she thought of Obi-Wan battered and bloodied, thrown down at Palpatine's feet and told to beg for his life. But he wouldn't, and he'd die. She felt her breathing quicken and knew that if she didn't calm herself, she'd hyperventilate.

She felt Brummel grasp her hand and then his thumb rubbing her palm in slow, smooth circles. He met her eyes and she saw in his a vulnerability and self-loathing unlike any she'd ever seen before. In his mind, this was his fault. He'd failed her, so caught up in trying to think their predicament through that he'd fallen prey to a worse predicament altogether in the form of these six gun-wielding clones.

They were trotted forward until they came up on the mass of soldiers and the highly animated Major who they'd watched earlier from a distance.

The transport was right there, no more than fifteen feet from them.

"On the bright side, m'lady, I didn't suppose we'd ever get this close."

She smiled sadly at the quip.

A kick to the back of her kneecap sent her to her knees. One to Brummel did the same.

"We found these two down by the command post."

The Major walked toward them, his face the same as all the other clones, but somehow very different. His eyes didn't betray a mindlessness like most of the others did. There was no sense that he acted under any sort of duress or mind control or programming. He appeared wily, cunning, like his dark intentions had been nurtured and made more complex throughout the years, as if he was a product not of someone else's design, but his own malice and his own zest to do evil to as many and as much as he could.

He stopped before his captives and looked down on them with a heinous flippancy.

Brummel's eyes met Padme's. She saw the apology in his. He saw the forgiveness in hers.

"Kill them."


	17. The Jedi's Stand

A/N: Hello all. The encouraging words are greatly appreciated from all of you. Thanks to those who have been following the whole way and to those who just stumbled across this. Apologies if there's more typos and errors than usual. I'll be honest -- I'm slightly inebriated as I post this. Anyways, enjoy.

* * *

Two clones came around back of them and pressed the barrells of their blasters into the captives' heads. Brummel squeezed his eyes shut, seeking out the force, but he never found it. His failure spread through his body an all-encompassing numbness that removed him from the present and left him on some other plane of existence that would never again cede him to the one on which he was born. 

Padme closed her eyes as well, picturing Obi-Wan as she prepared once more to die. She wondered if he'd been able to sense her in the same way as she'd been able to sense him. Was it just wishful thinking on her part or was there some miraculous quality of their love that left it untethered by the physical world? Deep in her heart, the only place that was of consequence any longer, she knew that what she shared with Obi-Wan could compel the surreal to become reality.

"I'm sorry, m'lady," the Jedi whispered.

"This is not the end."

Brummel wondered what that meant, then waited for it all to be over.

A series of agonized screams drew back the lids of his eyes.

Ten Jedi, led by Master Windu, tore through the crowd of clones with surgical precision, deflecting blaster shots from the flustered and shocked company of the Chancellor's army. By the time any of them could react, the Jedi had struck down more than twenty of the two hundred men gathered.

Fervid blaster fire erupted within the crowd and the two clones charged with executing Padme and Brummel now took aim at the newly arrived insurgents.

Brummel drew his lightsaber from his belt and switched it on, hopping to his feet and decapitating both soldiers in one fluent motion.

He reached down and grasped Padme by the elbow, pulling her up off her knees and checking the progress of their Jedi liberators out of the corner of his eye. Two of the ten had already fallen and those who remained were having a difficult time of it, save Master Windu, who had never looked more at home.

Any attention which had been paid the nearly executed pair had been redirected on Windu and his band of knights. Brummel threw a look over his shoulder. He could make out in the near-distance the occupants of the command post looking down the landing strip at the bloody conflict, then returning inside, presumably to notify their superiors of the development. One glance at the unguarded transport was all he needed.

"Padme, go and ready the ship! We need to leave this place and emancipate Obi-Wan! It won't be but minutes until there's reinforcements along to put us down!"

The senator nodded wordlessly and then ran off toward the transport as fast as her legs would carry her. When she was up the ramp and out of sight, Brummel turned his attention back to Windu's brawl with the clones. Another Jedi had been killed.

He took off in a sprint, then flipped up over the outermost gathering of clones right into the middle of the fray, where he promptly cut open the chests of three of the Chancellor's soldiers with one vile diagonal slash. Quickly, he brought his lightsaber back up in front of his face to deflect three incoming blasts.

"Brummel!" Windu shouted, catching the padawan out of the corner of his eye. "We can't stay here!"

The young Jedi stabbed one clone through the heart and stymied the attack of another with a puissant kick to the chest that sent him stumbling into three others, who fell with him to the ground.

Overhead, the small transport, ramp still open, slowly began to descend toward the frenzied skirmish, drawing some of the fire away from the Jedi and onto its hull.

The padawan spared no glance at Windu when he spoke again, but his voice was calm and steady, even as he narrowly avoided his death on multiple occasions inside the span of five seconds.

"I do believe that's our ride, Master," Brummel said, his voice more than conversational but far less than the shout the situation warrented. "And at a reduced fare too."

Windu turned his gaze to the sky for no more than a half second, then ducked a blaster shot and spun around, stepping forward with his dominant right leg and planting himself on the foot of one of the clones, immobilizing the soldier and cutting his body in two. A shove to the face sent the top half of the clone's body to the ground, where he was put out of his misery by the Jedi's purple blade.

A little ways away, Master Granger's horrific cry chilled the Jedi to their bones, but they had no time to process his death or their feelings about it, consumed by their instincts of self-preservation, which were at present challenged convincingly by this seemingly endless assemblage of infantrymen.

The transport was only twenty feet above them now, turning so that the deployed ramp was accessible. Much to the chagrin of its pilot, though, this exposed the interior to the clones below, whose shots now found their way inside.

"After you!" Brummel shouted amidst two simultaneous kicks to the faces of two clones.

Windu looked up a moment, then delivered one more fatal blow to an attacker before he leapt up onto the ramp of the transport with relative ease. Three of the other Jedi joined him in sync with his jump, then turned with him to continue deflecting blaster shots from the ground. Padme spared a glance behind her at the new arrivals, filled with a welcome calm as saw the venerable Councilman aboard.

The last two members of Windu's party sprung up off the ground and onto the ramp, but both were struck by random fire on the way up and collapsed once in the transport. They crawled up off the ramp into the ship and out of the way of the four unharmed Jedi reflecting the clones' shots back at them.

Brummel's movements were frenzied now as the clones turned most of their attention to him. He dodged a shot at his face with a nimble back-bend, from which he blocked several more blasts with his lightsaber before he sprightly turned his body to the side and dove into a roll, deflecting five more shots in the middle of his rotation.

At the end of the roll, he found his footing easily, then hurled his lightsaber forward as if it were a spear, embedding it in the chest of the clone right in front of him.

He mounted the man's shoulders, where he removed his lightsaber and vaulted up into the sky and onto the ramp, quickly turning and joining his comrades in deflecting the clones' impassioned shots.

"Padme, go!"

The transport soared away.

As the senator put some distance between the transport and the landing strip, the four Jedi retreated inside and the ramp was retracted, closing off the ship and easing the minds of its occupants.

Brummel sat down and took a series of panted breaths, laying his head against the wall as the sweat dripped off the bangs of his hair, which were usually pushed up and out of his face but now hung down and stuck to his forehead, now moist with perspiration.

This had been a rather close call. While it had turned out okay in the end, he felt shame that he'd allowed Padme to talk him into following his vision. She could have been killed. His sole responsibility had been to protect her, but he'd allowed himself to put that duty second to another. He knew he'd failed Obi-Wan, no matter what happened from here.

Just across from him sat two of the other Jedi, who he now recognized as the horn-headed Master Rucient and his able padawan, Pen Crinnin, two years his senior and nearing the age of maturation and the Jedi trials just as he was.

Checking on the two injured men, two padawans named Spreece and Horvoath who he'd known since he was child, were two of the most respected Jedi in the history of the Order, Master Windu and Master Lunar, who were famous for being the only two men who didn't carry the traditional blue or green lightsabers, but wielded instead purple and orange blades respectively.

"Master Windu."

The dark-skinned man looked back at Brummel.

"I've had no news of the war since it began today."

Windu nodded grimly, looking back at Spreece's face, contorted by the pain of his physical injury and the mental one dealt him earlier by the death of his Master.

"The Jedi coalition is faring very badly," he said. "By the time the sun rises tomorrow morning, we'll be all but extinguished."

Brummel forced down some bile.

"Then we must go to Theed and end this war before that can happen."

Windu glanced at him curiously, wondering where it was he found the strength to be so placid in their present set of circumstances and just what it was that had prompted that remark. It would seem he knew something that they didn't.

"How do you propose that's possible, padawan?"

"Because the Force has told me it is so," Brummel replied. "This war will not be won on the frontlines. It will be won behind them by one man."

"Who?"

"Whoever has the strength to strike down the Chancellor, to strike down the Sith."

Windu didn't say anything for a few moments, returning his attention to the fallen padawans, working in consort with Lunar to try and heal them through their bond with the Force. This left Brummel to return to his musings, but it wasn't long before he was drawn back out of them by the eldest Jedi.

"What of Master Obi-Wan's fate?"

Brummel glanced over at Padme, who met his eyes sharply at the question. He turned back to Windu.

"He is alive, trapped on the Yuvan Bridge. We'll be arriving there in the next several minutes."

Windu's eyes hardened.

"We can't risk it. We already lost four men back there. Our numbers have slimmed so much. We can't take that risk."

Brummel wasn't fazed.

"We can and we will."

"Take care in the tone you address me with, young Carde," the Jedi spat sternly. "Beyond the twenty to thirty who we project have been captured and taken captive to Theed, we are all that remains! Just us. Seven men. Seven men of a dying Order. We will not risk our only hopes to vanquish the Chancellor on a spontaneous rescue operation."

Brummel could feel Padme fuming in the pilot's seat. He'd never been admonished by Master Windu like this. It was a small miracle to some padawans and to others, a reflection of his lack of independence and judgment. Never in a thousand years would he have supposed the day would come when Master Windu would be wrong. Never would he have predicted that he would have to stand his ground against him. But on this day, the padawan's eyes hardened defiantly.

"You take care in the lives you write off, Jedi Master," Brummel said, meeting Windu's gaze with recalcitrant eyes. "Whether you like it or not, Master Kenobi will be saved. If I must do it myself while you cower inside here, then I will. If I must meet one million men head-on, then I will. If I must darken the entire sky with blood, if I must shame the memory of every Jedi who ever was, if I must move Heaven and Naboo and every star in this galaxy and all others, then _I will_."

Windu was silent, stunned by the diatribe of the most faithful and obedient student he'd ever known. This day had changed the young man. All he could do was nod and look away.

Brummel could feel Padme's relief and gratitude pulse through his body and the hope and certitude of the both of them were solidified.

The padawan felt the eyes of Master Lunar on him and met the man's gaze.

"We will not leave him to some gruesome fate, padawan," the kind-eyed elder said. "We will share in the strength of your convictions, just as you share in his."

Padme didn't have to look to see what was in Brummel's eyes.

She smiled.

* * *

Anakin poked his head out and took a look down each end of the corridor. There was no sign of his pursuer, which disconcerted the Jedi more than looking him dead in his pernicious red eyes. The absence of malice was the potential for malice. 

"Where are you, you black bastard?"

He stepped into the hallway tentatively, looking again down each end, surveying what was there, or rather, what wasn't. The feeling that he was walking into some trap was difficult to shake, but he didn't suppose there was much of a choice. He had to get out of this building somehow and then out of Theed. Without Obi-Wan or any other steadying influences, he didn't have much concept of what to do. And unless he could warn them, no one would know that Pratt was a traitor.

The boy had always fancied himself superior to Obi-Wan in swordsmanship and force sensibility and in the ultimate judgment of what the Jedi and the Republic should be and stand for. He still believed that, but in moments like this, he wouldn't have minded Obi-Wan's gratingly pastoral voice or assertion that age and experience gave him wisdom beyond the younger Jedi's.

He was lost in his thoughts when every lightbulb in the corridor burst very suddenly, leaving him in complete darkness.

His heart quickened its pace by half.

It would be okay, he told himself. He was, after all, the chosen one. This would be but the opening round in a campaign to destroy the Sith, one he and he alone was capable of executing. He'd always known he was destined for great things and he was certain he'd lived up to that notion to date, but he was called upon now to prove it in his greatest challenge to date. He would not fail.

Through the darkness, a pair of red eyes glowed.

Slowly, they moved through the endless black on a course that would take them right to the Jedi, and through him if they had their way.

"You aren't a match for someone with my power, Sith."

It sounded to Ovid like the boy had meant those words, but it wasn't possible for him to be more mistaken. Anakin's arrogance was boundless, especially in proportion to his abilities, which didn't match his confidence by one quarter.

"Your self-absorption will be your end, boy. You flaunt what isn't there, powers you don't even have. For whatever reason, the Chancellor still feels you have some value. Throw down your lightsaber and he will spare your life. Don't, and I will not."

Anakin smirked and activated his trusted weapon, the green light partially illuminating the lanky boy's upper half.

"You've chosen the wrong day to cross the wrong man. I will end your miserable existence and then bring the Chancellor's reign of terror to its conclusion."

Ovid's red blade came to life. He almost pitied this Jedi and his bombastic delusions. It was obvious he had no idea what was to come.

"You will try."

Anakin attacked first with a series of heavy downward strikes, which were blocked with ease by the stronger Sith, who was content for the moment to let the boy do his worst, feeling no sense of anxiety that he might be in danger.

After six casually intercepted hits, the Jedi begged off a moment, then went back on the offensive with quick jabs and retreats, hoping to catch his adversary off-guard. These attempts were likewise stymied with effortless parries, each one threatening the boy's balance and further establishing Ovid's superior swordsmanship.

"You're out of your league, boy."

Anakin drew back his blade and stretched out his off-hand, a pose he'd learned from and practiced countless times with Obi-Wan.

"I beg to differ."

He went on the offensive yet again, but this time with an urgent cogency that caught Ovid off-guard and sent him back-peddling down the corridor, the clash of green and red now clearly favoring the assailing Jedi.

Anakin mixed up the attack now, first coming with the lumbering blows he'd tried earlier, then an abrupt jab followed by a harefooted upward swipe. He'd still failed to land anything, but the fight was clearly turning in his favor.

The Sith seemed to recover from his initial shock and delivered a kick to Anakin's chest that sent the boy back a few feet. Then he cocked his arm back and came at the Jedi with a broad, potent swing. Anakin came at him with one of his own and the lightsabers met in mid-air.

"Give it up," the boy spat through gritted teeth, leaning forward with all his weight, pushing Ovid's lightsaber back toward its owner. "You can't defeat me."

Ovid leaned forward now, pushing back, gaining a clear advantage with his superior strength.

"The only thing more pathetic than your skills is your tongue."

Anakin managed to halt Ovid's progress, but he wasn't able to gain any ground pushing back, the muscles in his arms spasming first, then tearing under the pressure of deterring the virile Sith. He could feel the enamel of his teeth give way to his pained, zealous grinding. His entire body was ready to burst or implode or simply shut down, overmatched in every physical capacity. Mentally, the story was the same.

"You have but one final chance, Skywalker," the red-eyed man warned. "You will lay down your weapon or you will die."

Anakin's knees threatened to buckle under the strain, his green blade forced closer and closer to his face. Through his labored breaths and tortured grunts, his words barely emerged.

"I am the chosen one."

Ovid's red eyes sparkled with a hateful exuberance that filled the Jedi with fear for the first time.

"So be it, Chosen One."

The Sith released his pressure on the boy, who was too surprised to react. He inverted his grip on the handle of his lightsaber, then spun around and drove the red blade through Anakin's body, beginning on his right side just below the third rib and going all the way through to the left side, where it exited and reacquainted itself with empty air.

Anakin gasped, his shocked eyes finding Ovid's. It wasn't supposed to be like this. This was wrong. The prophecy had foretold his coming.

He fell to his knees, throwing up blood.

"I was... the chosen one."

The boy shut his eyes and fell forward.

Anakin was dead.

* * *

Padme let out a startled, strangled cry when the bridge came into view and she saw Obi-Wan's battered, bloodied, motionless form.

* * *

Obi-Wan cried out in anguish as he was struck by the two most distressing images he could imagine, visions of Padme crying out and of his apprentice suffering. He felt the blinding, searing pain of Anakin's injury as if the lightsaber had been driven through his own body. No, no, no, no, this couldn't be. Not his padawan. Not his friend. Not the boy who was a confection of brother and son. Not this vibrant, joyful soul who he hadn't been there to protect. 

His eyes filled with tears, the clones looking on with a mixture of confusion and glee at seeing him broken like this before looking to the sky

A dark figure. Padme's scream. Anakin's lifeless body.

The vision was complete.


	18. The Great Escape

A/N: Hello all. Thanks to everyone for keeping interested as our little story here moves along. Anakin's demise in the last chapter sort of reminds me of when I feel bad for the antagonists who get their comeuppance in movies, i.e. Dooku in Ep. 3, because he was so confident that I felt bad for him when he got his hands chopped off and just sat there stunned and helpless.

Anakin was arrogant and obnoxious, but he wasn't really such a bad guy. I did feel bad killing him.

In any event, this should be an eventful installment, I think. Hope it's fairly easy to follow and hope you all enjoy.

* * *

Padme went numb at the sight of Obi-Wan unconscious on the bridge, surrounded completely by the Chancellor's soldiers, many alive with guns trained on the Jedi and many lying inert with fatal wounds from his lightsaber. He hadn't gone down without a fight. On the bridge and off, dozens of men lay dead. That would have induced enough awe on its own, but for him to have held up as long as he did while weak with the strength-sapping illness he'd had since his return to Naboo was really quite extraordinary. 

They were still too high to see if his chest still rose and receded, but something in her told her that she would have known if he was dead, just like she'd known that it was him that she and Brummel had heard the clones speaking about over the radio. There was something in their bond, in their love, that defied reason and the outside world. It went beyond both the physical and the metaphysical, beyond flesh and blood and beyond the Force. It was some unheralded intangible left to furment throughout the ages, only now harvested in this new year by the only two people who could know what to do with it.

The ship began to drift left as Padme lost touch with the here and now, so consumed with her unquantifiably potent relief and fear that her hands slipped off the controls and into her lap. It was the greatest moment in her life and the worst one too. He was alive, but he looked so helpless, ravaged by a war he'd made her promise to avoid. Here she was, though, right in the middle of it. She felt guilty at having coerced Brummel into ignoring his promise to Obi-Wan, but all the same, she thanked any and all of the galaxy's holy entities that she'd been brought here at this moment to aid in his retrieval.

Her senses rejoined the present as she saw Rucient slip into the seat next to her and take over the controls. She looked at the Jedi with eyes filled to the brim with conflict, confusion.

"It's Obi-Wan."

The sanguine Jedi maneuvered the ship down closer to the bridge, where the flummoxed clones waited pensively for something to happen. They knew nothing of the intentions of the transport's inhabitants. Weapons trained, they waited, Obi-Wan for the moment forgotten.

"Yes, Senator," Rucient said. "It certainly is."

On the bridge, the leader glanced at one of his like-faced counterparts.

"That doesn't look like one of ours."

"It's not, sir."

Obi-Wan supressed a groan, forcing into some hidden compartment his grief over Anakin's demise, rolling his head to the side to see what it was that was distracting them so. A small transport hovered twenty feet above, its intent unknown. He could feel something, someone. Padme. He barely resisted the urge to moan at the prospect that she was near. How she'd found him, he couldn't be bothered to wonder right now. Nor could he be bothered to disapprove of her proximity to the war. All he could do was thank the Force that she was here.

The leader pulled out his comm-link, setting it to the frequency the army used for air traffic.

"This is Red 2. Please identify yourself."

There was no response, just dead air as the ship drew closer still to the bridge, a mere fifteen feet up now.

Obi-Wan lifted his head and took a look around, wanting nothing more but to lay back and sleep for a year, every movement agonizing as he jostled his pain-ridden body and disturbed his myriad injuries. If today was the war to end all wars, it would seem his resiliant body wanted to reflect its grandeur.

He spotted his inert lightsaber a few feet away, but made no move to retrieve it just yet. Patience, Qui-Gon had implored.

"Unidentified ship, this is Red 2. Identify yourself or we will open fire."

Rucient looked back at his fellow survivors, catching the eyes of Brummel and Windu.

"Are you ready?"

Brummel glanced at Crinnin and Lunar, then met Padme's tentative gaze. Her eyes were clouded with fear and hope and the ethereal commodity which gave her her entire purpose in life, love. He projected through both his own optics and the Force a reassurance she looked to be desperately in need of.

She smiled softly and the padawan reciprocated before turning back to Rucient with a curt nod.

"Don't go anywhere without us," Brummel said, a mischief in his eyes that none of his companions were used to.

He shuffled toward the back of the transport, Windu, Crinnin, and Lunar right beside him, pulling their lightsabers from their belts.

Crinnin turned and looked at his fellow padawan.

"I think I liked you better when you were grim."

Brummel smiled and faced forward, taking hold of his lightsaber.

"There will be plenty of time to be grim, Pen."

It was said with a light-heartedness meant to put his peer at ease, but instead, it sent a chill down Crinnin's spine and tightened the young man's grip on his weapon. Brummel laid a hand on his shoulder, then turned to Windu, who nodded and looked back toward Rucient and Padme.

"All right, do it!"

On the bridge, Obi-Wan was nearly frantic at the thought that they would shoot down that ship, which he had such a strong feeling contained Padme. He lay on his back still, his head a few inches off the ground, and he very slowly stretched his arm out, reaching behind him, where his lightsaber rested five feet away.

The leader lifted his weapon.

"Fire on my mark!"

The ramp of the transport began to deploy slowly and the leader held up his hand, gesturing for them to hold their fire. He turned to the clone beside him.

"Could their communications be down?"

"It's possible. Perhaps they're here to escort the Jedi."

The leader nodded and watched as the ramp came to a stop, its lowest end almost close enough to touch the bridge. They couldn't make out any of the passengers from this angle just yet. The clones still trained their guns and waited anxiously.

Obi-Wan called his lightsaber to his hand and kipped up to his feet, ignoring the hot, burning pain that surged through his entire body. He energized his weapon, then waited as the leader turned sharply to look at him, his countenance betraying his astonishment.

The Jedi managed a faint smile despite his hurts.

"Hello there."

Before the leader could react, Obi-Wan cut his body in two, slicing through his left shoulder all the way down to his hip. The other clones, momentarily agape and immobile with surprise, took a moment to recognize what was happening.

As they finally regained their wits and turned to fire on their prisoner, though, four Jedi ran down and leapt off the ramp and onto the bridge, igniting their own lightsabers.

Chaos erupted as the clones opened fire to no avail. The four new arrivals blocked the infantrymen's shots with ease and began to weave through the crowd with fluent swipes and swings that they looked like they could have done in their sleep or without the benefit of sight and hearing.

Obi-Wan's task was more difficult as the clones from the other side of the bridge had only him to deal with at the moment. The young Master was barely able to block the mammoth influx of blasts from the well-engineered and well-trained soldiers.

A grazing shot to the shoulder disturbed his focus and the clone right in front of him hammered him in the face with the butt of his gun, sending Obi-Wan spinning around. He recovered, though, planting his foot and pivoting back around to behead his attacker.

Another just in front of him aimed his rifle right at the Jedi's head, but the injured warrior sliced off the barrell with a downward stroke, then cut open its owners chest with a quick upward slash.

Two more appeared and fell to the metal floor of the bridge after two lightning-quick thrusts through the heart. Still, there were another fifteen ahead, and though he could partially shield himself from their fire using the bodies of those he cut down before they fell, he was forced furiously to block an abundance of incoming shots.

On the other side of the bridge, Brummel and Windu led the way through the mass, which had been reduced already to ten, the four Jedi like some violent storm which left nothing in its wake but debris and broken dreams. But there were no dreams to be broken, no individuality to snuffed out in these clones, just some exponentially heightened sense of obligation, an eternal devotion to Palpatine's tyranny.

Brummel leapt up, decapitating a clone, then spinning in mid-air, beheading a second and stabbing a third in the chest as he landed.

Crinnin and Windu felled two more, then parted to allow Lunar an easy kill of his own.

Obi-Wan looked behind him and, seeing his companions had only four more to deal with, began to walk backward, deflecting the frenzied shots of the soldiers who kept on toward him.

Brummel, seeing Obi-Wan's more pressing predicament, leapt up over the last four clones, leaving them to the other three Jedi, and dashed toward his mentor, whose haggard form did his heart and his sore eyes good.

The young Master's pace had slowed, and though he still blocked the clones' shots with relative ease, those remaining drew closer, closer to him. One came within three feet, but a swift kick to the chest from Obi-Wan's boot sent him reeling. A deflected blast a moment later downed him for good.

Brummel reached the Jedi's side and lightened his load, stepping back with him and blocking the clones' shots in sync.

Obi-Wan turned his head briefly to assure himself it was him. He couldn't find within him the angry temperament he wanted to, only gratitude and joy that his friend was all right.

"Nice of you to drop by."

Brummel smiled.

"We were in the neighborhood."

Obi-Wan glanced over his shoulder and saw that Crinnin, Windu, and Lunar had disposed of the remaining soldiers they'd been charged with eliminating. There were only nine left now pursuing he and Brummel.

Overhead, a brobdingnagian ship cast a shadow over the entire bridge, its massive hull completely dwarfing the small transport. Windu and Crinnin hustled back toward the ship, hopping back up onto the ramp. Lunar ran a little ways down the bridge toward the pair of Jedi still ensconced in battle.

"Obi-Wan! Brummel! We've got to go!"

Another clone fell at the hands of his own shot. The two friends glanced at each other and nodded in unspoken agreement.

They charged forward at the last remaining soldiers, a whirlwind of thrusts and jabs and slashes that looked downright implausible, at least when one considered how fast and effortless it was. Even as he worked with Obi-Wan to strike down the few clones remaining, Brummel could see his friend's gritted teeth and damp face and knew the pain he was in.

When Obi-Wan neutralized the last remaining clone, he switched off his lightsaber and brought his hands down to rest on his bent knees in one motion. He followed Brummel's eyes to Lunar jumping back up into the transport, then to the sky, where dozens of hatches opened simultaneously.

"I don't suppose they're here to congratulate us," Obi-Wan deadpanned, his ragged breaths and bloody clothes not lost on Brummel, who only now had the chance to study him.

From the hatches, dozens of fresh clones emerged holding onto thick black cables, which lowered them slowly toward the bridge.

"If they are, they chose some rather tacky party favors."

Just off the bridge, at the far end, Obi-Wan sensed something that quite surprised him. He'd thought his new friend long since dead, but the Force had smiled kindly on the Naboo militiaman.

"Coloshi," he whispered.

The first wave of clones reached the bridge and opened fire, forcing Obi-Wan and Brummel to protect themselves yet again, blocking the incoming barrage with their overworked lightsabers. The young Master didn't particularly look like he was up for any more fighting and Brummel subtlely positioned himself closer to him to block some of the shots coming toward Obi-Wan in addition those coming at him.

A little ways down, the transport had come under fire and was pulling away from the bridge now. It wasn't made to withstand any degree of combat and a few well-placed blasts would obliterate it, the young Jedi both knew.

The assault on the small ship continued, but its capable pilot outmaneuvered the elephantine ship and slid underneath the bridge, coming up on the other side and gliding through the air toward the section where Obi-Wan and Brummel stood.

"Brummel!" the elder man shouted over the blaster fire. "You have to go!"

"What about you!"

Obi-Wan winced as a stray shot grazed his leg.

"There's something I have to do!"

"Not a chance in Hell!" the padawan shouted defiantly. "We both leave or we both stay! I don't care which, but you're not getting rid of me!"

The ship maneuvered up alongside them now, Lunar and Windu tentatively stepping out onto the still-deployed ramp, careful to avoid the heavy fire coming from the clones and from the gargantuan vessel that brought them. The venerated Jedi drew their lightsabers to protect themselves.

"Come on!" Windu shouted. "We have to get out of here!"

Obi-Wan shook his head vigorously.

"I'm not leaving without -"

Obi-Wan watched in horror, cut off mid-sentence as he saw in the distance one of the clones casually trot off the bridge, then over to Coloshi. He stood over the Naboo soldier for a moment, then leveled his gun and fired several rounds into the young man's chest.

"No!" Obi-Wan screamed, all thoughts of protecting himself fleeing his mind at the sight of the execution.

Brummel stepped in front of him, taking it upon himself now to block all the incoming fire as Obi-Wan's hands fell to his side, his now deactivated lightsaber held loosely in his right hand. With someone of Obi-Wan's immense skill (even as he was ailing from an assortment of injuries and his illness) at Brummel's side, the padawan had found it easy to hold off the clones' attacks, but now that he was warding off the whole of the shots himself, he was struggling.

"Obi-Wan!" his friend shouted. "We have to go!"

This seemed to bring him back to his senses. He reignited his lightsaber and stepped up beside Brummel, easing the load on the younger man. This was no time to fall apart. They couldn't afford for him to. He felt suddenly ashamed at having let his emotions get the best of him in the moments prior. He was a Jedi. He had a duty.

The young Master leapt up onto the ramp beside Windu and Lanur, who retreated back into the transport. Obi-Wan didn't join them, standing out and continuing to deflect incoming shots as he waited for the padawan to join him.

Brummel was sent off-balance by a shot to the leg. He stumbled a moment, then fell to his knees, where he continued to deflect the clones' fire. It was starting to becoming overwhelming, though. They drew nearer now too, their blasts more accurate as they closed to within thirty feet.

Another shot from the massive clone ship rocked the transport, nearly overturning it. Obi-Wan gripped the corner where the inside of the ship became the outside, his legs going out from under him. He teetered for several moments before he swung himself back onto the ramp and regained his footing.

Brummel took another hit, this one a flesh wound to his dominant right arm.

Windu looked back toward Rucient in the pilot's seat.

"Go! Go!"

Obi-Wan didn't look back, concentrating on the incoming fire and on Brummel.

"No!" he shouted. "Not without Brummel!"

Windu stepped up behind Obi-Wan.

"We can't stay! One more hit and we're done!" He turned back to Rucient once more. "Go!"

Obi-Wan didn't reply, hopping off the transport and back onto the bridge. He hooked his left arm under Brummel's and continued to deflect the clones' fire with his lightsaber in his right hand. Windu looked on in amazement. Obi-Wan had always been an exceptionally proficient swordsman and commander of the Force, but this was taking it to another level entirely. He'd never seen anything quite like it, not even from Master Yoda.

Brummel switched off his lightsaber. The last thing he wanted to do was accidentally impale the man he'd come to rescue. Obi-Wan grunted in pain, using the last of his energy reserves to hop back up onto the ramp, where he and Brummel collapsed.

Another shot rocked the transport, this one the worst yet. It nearly capsized, turning onto its right side, sending Obi-Wan and Brummel sliding off toward certain doom.

Obi-Wan gripped with his left hand that same corner he had several moments earlier and with his right hand, he caught Brummel's forearm as the padawan's lightsaber fell into the abyss below.

"Hold on!" the Jedi screamed, his eyes shut in total agony. It was as if every inch of his body was being stabbed repeatedly with the jagged end of a broken liquor bottle.

Padme, recovering from her disorientation when she hit the wall and knocked the wind out of herself, moved toward the back of the transport, absently reaching out and gripping Crinnin's forearm to hold herself up. Horvoath and Spreece's prone bodies had been tossed against the wall, surely aggravating their afflictions. She began to slip, but Crinnin and Lunar caught her, handing her off to Windu as they peered out the back.

Lanur laid on his stomach and took hold of Obi-Wan's arm with both hands, trying his best to help support the Jedi and the dangling padawan.

Crinnin looked back at Rucient struggling with the controls up front.

"Master!" he shouted. "Turn it over! We're gonna lose them!"

The Master didn't respond to his padawan, too preoccupied already with the task of righting the ship.

Another blast came in, this one tearing the ramp off of the transport, sending it hurtling into Obi-Wan, whose grip on the ship edge faltered. He felt himself falling, but almost instantaneously, Lunar's grip on his arm solidified.

Brummel shouted up at Obi-Wan through clenched teeth.

"Let me go! I'm weighing you down!"

Obi-Wan's eyes were moist now with involuntary tears elicited by the unfathomable depth of his present physical pain. The Force could only numb so much. It felt as if he was being drawn and quartered while at the same time having sharp, burning needles shoved into every last contour of his body.

"Not today!" he ground out through his anguish. "Not a chance!"

Crinnin knelt down on one side of Lunar, Windu on the other. They took hold of him to help support Obi-Wan's and Brummel's weight.

Another shot grazed the edge of the ship, coming within centimeters of leaving Lunar and Obi-Wan both handless. That seemed to fill the elder Knight with more urgency, if that was possible given the circumstance.

"We're gonna pull you up now!" Lunar yelled down to him.

Obi-Wan nodded, his head barely moving, conserving whatever energy reserves he and the Force had left for this all-or-nothing effort. He rolled his eyes to the side as far as he could, catching Brummel's out of the corner of his. Thepadawan looked defeated, ashamed, as he hung there.

"Not done yet," the young Master managed to choke out.

Something changed in Brummel's eyes then. Any notions of contrition or self-pity were cast out and replaced with a fierce determination that did both their hearts good. He reached up his left hand and grabbed Obi-Wan's arm at the elbow.

Lunar began to haul up the dangling Jedi, Windu and Crinnin both with firm grips around his waist to support him. He began slowly to pull up Obi-Wan, who emitted some horrible grunt the whole way up.

Padme held onto the edge of one of the seats with a faltering grip, so consumed with her love's predicament that keeping balanced herself seemed trivial.

Another blast hit the ship, this one coming through its open rear and tearing through the hull back outside, narrowly missing Padme's hand and the seat it gripped. She cried out in surprise and lost her hold, sliding toward the other side of the ship. Spreece grabbed her hand and helped her back to where she was. She tried to smile her thanks at the young Jedi, who nursed still a shoulder wound, his other arm held protectively against his stomach, but her gesture of appreciation looked more like a grimace.

Lanur drew Obi-Wan close enough to move a hand under the arm he'd been holding, then used the new leverage to pull him up further. Crinnin crawled forward a bit now, abandoning his hold on Lanur and hooking his arm underneath Obi-Wan's. Together, they managed to pull Obi-Wan the rest of the way up onto the transport.

It was a tenuous victory at best, though, as Obi-Wan's fate was linked to his hold on Brummel, who dangled still below. Windu and Crinnin held on now to Obi-Wan as Lanur reached down and firmly grasped the padawan's arm at the elbow.

Another shot came through the back of the ship, this one whizzing right past Rucient's head as he continued his efforts to right the transport. He looked up with a startled gasp.

"Woh! Hurry up back there!"

Padme watched the Jedi's struggle to save Brummel numbly, unsure of what to feel with so much happening. They were still taking heavy fire and could be blown out of the sky at any moment. Her dear friend was dangling out the back near certain death. The love of her life, bloodied and beaten and in endless agony, lay five feet from her. But here she stood, clutching the seat, waiting until it was okay for her to rejoice in the miraculous recovery of Obi-Wan, waiting until it was okay for her to tend to him and pretend the rest of the world wasn't there, waiting until her great protector was back onboard and her worry for him could wash away.

Crinnin gave up his hold on Obi-Wan and maneuvered around next to Lanur, reaching down and grabbing Brummel's other arm. Padme's breath quickened at the sight of Windu supporting Obi-Wan by himself. She couldn't lose him now, not when he'd come within ten feet of her.

Lanur and Crinnin poured all that remained of them and their consortship with the Force into one, final, mighty pull and managed to haul Brummel back up onto the ship. The five Jedi lay sprawled out on top of one another in a tangle of limbs.

"We have them!" Lanur cried out from beneath Obi-Wan's and Windu's bodies.

Rucient acted quickly, deploying the emergency doors in the back of the transport. The sliding doors came together and locked nanoseconds before the entangled band of Jedi slid to the back. Instead of air and their deaths in the water below, they met reinforced metal.

"Master, get us out of here!" Crinnin shouted, slipping out from underneath Brummel and stumbling toward the front of the ship.

"I'm trying!"

The padawan slipped into the seat beside his Master, his hands gliding over the control console with a pilot's familiarity. That was one area where his skills easily eclipsed those of Rucient, a fact which he never let his mentor forget.

Padme clung to whatever she could along the wall as she made her way toward the supine Jedi at the back of the ship. Yet another blast struck the ship, this one tearing through one of the newly erected emergency doors and nearly striking the senator in the leg before it passed through the hull beside her. Her breath caught in her throat and she stopped moving.

Crinnin's eyes lit up as he punched in the critical control sequence.

"We're in business!"

The transport very abruptly righted itself, turning off its side and back upright, sending all of its inhabitants, save Crinnin and Rucient who were strapped into their seats, careening toward the left side of the ship. Padme was saved from a cruel run-in with the wall by the cushion of Lunar's body, whose back hit the rigid hull for her. Lunar groaned and looked ahead.

"Get us out of here!"

The transport soared off with a speed that was quite surprising given its militarial inadequacies. There was no way the lumbering troop transport would be able to catch up with them. For the moment, they were safe.

Spreece cradled his injured arm with a groan, sliding away from the conglomerate of bodies and then pulling himself up onto one of the seats with his good arm.

Windu found his feet, then reached down and hauled up Horvoath and Padme, helping Horvoath to the seat beside his fellow padawan and leaving Padme to gather herself with a hand braced against the wall.

Lunar pushed himself up off the deck and into a sitting position. To his left, Brummel did the same, laying his head back against the wall and closing his eyes.

Windu walked back over to Obi-Wan, kneeling down beside him and rolling him off his stomach and over onto his back. Padme gasped at the sight of him. Shreds of what had once been a tunic had been converted into makeshift bandages and tied off in two places on his arms and at least one on his leg, visible where one pant leg was bunched up around his patella.

His hair was stained with matted blood, his face outlined by dry and fresh blood alike. Obi-Wan's upper half, covered only by a thin shirt he'd taken to wearing underneath his tunic for warmth with his current illness, did Padme's heart no favors. The shirt, once a pure white, was nearly maroon now with blotches of red and torn in several spots.

She moved slowly toward him, catching Windu's compassionate gaze. Something in his eyes told her not to come any closer, but that choice was never really on the table. She knelt down beside Obi-Wan, his eyes slits as he rolled his head toward her.

When he spoke, his voice was raw and faint, but held that amused edge she so adored.

"You're not very good at hiding, darling."

The words all at once pained her and made her euphoric. She felt utter despair at seeing him like this, at knowing the hurt he must be feeling. But seeing him alive at all and hearing even in his greatest moment of agony his sense of humor, she was filled with hope and happiness.

Padme lay her hand on his cheek, stroking it tenderly, then moving it to his hair, stroking his short brown crop with some manic energy, quick, short strokes that betrayed to him just how unsettled she was.

Obi-Wan, though his tenuous hold on consciousness seemed to be wavering, was not unaware of what it did to Padme to see him like this. Still, he knew it was a blessing that they were together again at all. He wished he had the energy to claim her lips with the passion she deserved or to hold her close and smooth away her worry. It frustrated him that he couldn't be what she needed right now.

She shook her head fervently, as if somehow she'd read his thoughts, and slowed her caresses, made them slow and lingering now, stroking his cheek for a time, then his forehead, then his hair again.

"It's not your fault," Padme whispered. "None of this is your fault."

Obi-Wan lifted his head, then tried with a miserable futility to pull himself into a sitting position. Windu forced him back down with a stern hand on his shoulder. He said nothing, though, wanting not to intrude on this reunion. It was obvious the attachment between the pair, but it scarcely mattered given the circumstances. He wasn't sure he could have admonished them anyway.

The young Master's eyes took on a new pain, but this one possessed them from within, not from any physical injury. He squeezed them shut a moment and turned his head away.

With a gentle urgency, Padme forced his head back toward her. He opened his eyes.

"I thought I'd never see you again," she whispered. "I thought you might be gone."

The tears which she hadn't noticed were streaming down her own face were now coming down his. There was something more, if it was possible. The loss of countless innocents and Jedi and his own pain and fear that he'd lost the love of his life could conjure up enough tears for a thousand lifetimes, but somehow she knew there was still more.

"I love you," he said weakly. "I love you so much. You are the only thing that kept me from falling into some wicked void."

She leaned down and kissed several tears off his face, then touched his forehead with her own, reveling in the feel of his skin on hers, no matter how much blood and grime had tainted his wonderful face. No war could steal this moment. No weapon could pierce their love. She could feel him shake, not convulsions caused by his wealth of injuries, but horrible sobs born of some irreparable damage to his soul.

Padme pulled back, stroking his face with both hands now.

"What is it, Obi-Wan? What's happened?"

He shut his eyes again, willing away the tears, feeling wave after wave of self-loathing rising to the surface at his failure to give Padme this moment to be happy, just this one moment to let everything be fine. If this war was to end in catastrophe, he wished he could give her this reunion, this final fond memory. But he couldn't do that, the loss of his friend, of his family, it was just too much. He should never have separated from him. He should have stayed in Theed. His apprentice had paid the price for that decision.

Their relationship had been routinely rocky, but they always reconciled in the end. They had always been there for one another in the end. But now, in the boy's hour of need, in the moment where he required Obi-Wan's guidance most, the Master had not been there for his padawan. He'd failed everyone miserably. He'd failed his student. He'd failed Brummel. He'd failed Padme. He'd failed the Order. He'd failed the very institution of virtue. It was all his fault.

"Obi-Wan," she said softly, sweetly. "Open your eyes."

He didn't oblige her.

"Obi-Wan, look in my eyes. You'll be safe there."

Padme's words penetrated his self-recriminations and found their way into his bones. He would have believed anything she said then because he knew she wouldn't lie to him.

The Jedi opened his eyes and looked into hers, the tears still streaming down his face. She was right. When he looked in her eyes, he knew he was home. When he looked in her eyes, he knew nothing could happen to him. All there was was her unending love for him and the essence of her being. Those kind, beautiful eyes, they implored him to share his hurt. He couldn't deny them anything.

"Anakin," he whispered, choking on his sobs. "My boy. He needed me. Padme, he needed me..."

Obi-Wan trailed off, unable to speak now, his composure and ability to communicate shattered by his grief-stricken cries, which elicited from Padme new tears of her own. She folded her legs underneath her, then tried weakly to gather him into her arms. The senator found she didn't have the energy, but offered Windu a sad smile of thanks when he helped reposition him into her embrace.

"I'm so sorry," Padme whispered, running her hand through the hair at the back of his head. "I'm so sorry, love."

She continued to speak to him softly for several minutes, offering him sweet nonsense and assurances it wasn't his fault and telling him how much she loved him.

Eventually, his breathing evened out a little and his tears stopped flowing, exhaustion overpowering his grief.

"I'm so tired," he said. "I'm so tired, Padme."

She kissed the top of his head, then rubbed it with her cheek.

"Sleep now, love. Just go to sleep."

Obi-Wan obliged her.

Brummel bowed his head. He hadn't known Anakin particularly well and felt guilty as he remembered that he'd never liked the padawan. The boy was cocky and arrogant and bratty, wanting everything without having to put in the time or the effort. He expected the world of everyone else, but supposed it was enough that he was him. The label of "Chosen One" had obviously gone to his head.

Still, though, it was obvious how much Obi-Wan had loved him. And while there was a certain unconditional, familial component of that love, it was obvious the young Master saw something in Anakin that others often failed to, that Brummel himself had apparently failed to. Anakin had been arrogant and impatient, but he truly did want to do good, to change the galaxy for the better. Perhaps that was all you could ask of a man.

The padawan felt a pain in his leg, then refocused his eyes to find Lunar had rolled up his pant leg and was examining the wound he'd suffered back on the bridge.

Lunar smiled at him.

"It doesn't look too bad," he said, removing some gauze from a medical kit.

Brummel nodded, then looked over at Padme. She was laying Obi-Wan back on the deck, where Mace pulled up his shirt and began to examine the blaster shots he'd taken to the chest. The sight was rather remarkable. Windu frowned, furrowing his brow as he ran his hand over the young Jedi's chest.

"What is it?" Brummel asked, glancing back at Lunar, a quizzical expression passing between them. "Is he all right?"

Windu looked back at them, then at Padme, then at Obi-Wan's face, peaceful now with sleep.

"His injuries... they're serious. If we were at the Temple, the healers would probably insist he rest for a few weeks, but..."

Padme glared at him, imploring him to get to the point. He met her eyes briefly, then looked back at Brummel.

"Obi-Wan has never been particularly talented at using the Force to heal wounds. It's one of the few things he doesn't excel at. But the resiliency of his body, it's inexplicable. He should be dead, but... these wounds look half-healed."

Brummel's eyes fell on Padme. She looked back at him, but found only a look of confoundment.

A few minutes passed. The senator watched over Obi-Wan as Windu tended as best he could to his wounds and offered what remedy he could with his Force-healing abilities. Lanur finished dressing Brummel's leg wound, then checked on Spreece and Horvoath, who both professed to be fine. Spreece hadn't exactly been convincing, though, and succumbed rather easily to Lanur's Force suggestion that he go to sleep.

Satisfied Obi-Wan had been tended to as best he could be and assured he was still asleep, Padme crawled over next to Brummel, stretching her legs out beside his. He lifted his arm, offering her his shoulder. She accepted, pillowing her head against it and letting her eyes close for a moment.

"Brummel," she whispered wearily.

"Yes, m'lady?"

Her words were slurred now, her voice faint.

"How is Obi-Wan even alive?"

"I can't say."

That didn't seem to satisfy her. She gave a soft, frustrated sigh, which would have been indescernable to most anyone else. A few moments passed in silence. He found that for all the serenity and wisdom attributed to the Jedi, he could recall nothing from his training that could ease her mind right now. There was something else, though.

"I used to spend a lot of time at the Temple Archives," he said, speaking in a voice that was above a whisper, but couldn't be heard by anyone else. "I always loved to read."

"What did you read?"

She was nearly asleep now, her question barely audible.

"Everything. I had a rather eclectic taste. There was one book I read over and over and over again."

"What was it?"

"It was by a man named Sen Pugal, called 'Seasons of the Dead.' It was so sad, so very cynical. It's about a man whose wife dies in a terrible accident on her way back to Coruscant to have their baby. It's about his spiral into drinking and gambling and how he self-destructs."

"That sounds terrible. Why would you keep reading that?"

"Because of the very end. At the end, just when he's about to kill himself, he hears someone at his door. He goes to see who it is, and it's his wife. The man says, 'You're not here. You can't be. How?' And she smiles and she comes inside, and she says: 'Sometimes love is so strong, it compels the surreal to become reality.'"

Padme lifted her head and looked over at Obi-Wan, then returned it to Brummel's shoulder. She sighed peacefully and fell asleep. Brummel kissed her head and joined her.


	19. The Unexpected

A/N: Apologies that it's been a while since the last update. Thanks, all, for sticking with it. This is a very short chapter compared to my usual updates, but I don't have much spare time right now, as opposed to the mountains of it I had a little while back. Apologies for the shortness and any errors that my be contained within, and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

Crinnin rolled his neck, feeling and hearing familiar cracks that inspired nostalgic remembrances of his time shared with Brummel. They'd always been admonished for sparring that bordered on violence, always pushing the envelope. Still, Brummel was regarded as one of the Order's most disciplined students. His comrade was considered somewhat of a loose cannon, but on this day, war had sobered him, had thieved the lightness of his heart and left in its stead misfortunes he wasn't equipped to cope with. 

The padawan slid down to the ground beside Brummel, drawing his friend's attention.

"Quite a day," Crinnin said mildly.

"The day to end them all."

"Whether there's others being held captive or whether they're all dead, we're all that's left to turn back the darkness. Eight men against the institution of evil."

Brummel craned his head to look at Padme, still asleep against his shoulder.

"Evil cannot prosper so long as it is opposed."

"And who will oppose it once it swallows us?"

"We needn't pose that query."

"Why not?"

"Because fear resides in that question, and so then does the darkness. We will not fail."

Crinnin eyed his friend curiously.

"You've changed, Brummel," he said. "I see in your eyes a vigor that's neverlived there, a resolve I never suspected. You are all the things I tried to pretend I was, the genuine article drowning in facsimiles."

Brummel smiled sadly, laying a hand on Crinnin's shoulder.

"You are a better man than you know, and for that, your heart is pure."

"My heart is not pure, friend, just heavy with the sum of my missteps."

"I would join you in any battle with any odds, Pen. Your heart does right by me."

Crinnin bowed his head in thanks, then turned to watch Windu and Lunar several feet away, the distinguished pair examining a map of Theed on a long screen fixed to the wall of the transport.

Brummel followed his gaze.

"All things considered, I'd rather be on Coruscant."

The lightness of his tone didn't register with Crinnin, who wrinkled his forehead and stared off into some unknown oblivion.

"I always thought I'd sit beside them on the Council someday."

Brummel smiled.

"Perhaps you still will."

Crinnin's eyes refocused.

"Perhaps."

Obi-Wan's voice surprised them, just as it surprised them to see him stand and walk over on relatively steady feet to stand beside Windu and Lunar.

"South, through the sewer. Relatively worthless strategically, but perfect for infiltrating with a small group."

Rucent chimed in from the cockpit.

"We're only thirty miles out now. I'm going to have to lower our altitude a little bit here or they'll spot us a lightyear away."

Obi-Wan nodded and faced Windu.

"I'd also recommend we touch down no closer than five miles out. If they spot us before we get inside Theed, we don't stand a chance."

His elder nodded.

"I concur, Master Kenobi. It is imperative we maintain our numbers, for only with the whole of our remaining strength can we hope to -"

The wall exploded, the ship sent rocking violently as a huge chunk of the hull was ripped off and sent hurtling through the transport, tearing Windu's head from his shoulders and sending Obi-Wan and Lunar violently to the deck before crushing Spreece's and Horvoath's tracheas where they sat on the far side.

Brummel turned instinctively to smother Padme, who awoke with a frightened shriek and covered her eyes.

Crinnin struggled to his feet as the ship banked to the left of its own accord and not the pilot's. He spared a glance at Obi-Wan's and Lunar's prone forms, then hustled toward the cockpit, forcing from his mind the sight of Spreece and Horvoath pinned against the wall, dead.

Padme grabbed a hold of Brummel's shirt like her entire life depended on the grip.

"Brummel!" she shouted. "What's happening!?"

"Stay down, m'lady! Just stay down!"

Crinnin fell into the seat beside Rucient.

"What the hell is going on!?"

Rucient's hands flew from control to control, but his efforts had proved fruitless thus far.

"Fighters, three of them! I can't regain control!"

Crinnin looked out the windshield ahead and watched as those scores of trees, which had once been worlds away, drew exponentially nearer with each frantic second.

"We've gotta level off!" the padawan yelled over the roar of incoming fire. "Ease off on the port thruster!"

Rucient's wild hands did their best to comply, but were stymied by the grave barrage of system failures born out of the transport's substantial hit.

"No good!" the Master replied. "This thing's finished!"

Obi-Wan struggled to his knees, clearing the fog from his brain with a few hard blinks. Lunar lay unconscious beside him, Brummel wide-eyed over Padme to the other side. Those eyes met Obi-Wan's. Words weren't needed.

Another direct hit erased more of the transport's hull and sent it spinning out of control.

Rucient, buckled tightly into his seat, had no hope of reacting when his chair was ripped from the floor and sent savagely through the windshield, spiraling with tragic enthusiasm toward the foliage below, the manacled Jedi all the while fumbling with no degree of success to release himself from his restraints.

Brummel felt his grip on Padme loosen as his head smacked against the wall, his vision blurring as he struggled to maintain his hold on reality.

Obi-Wan struck the hull just beside him, but he managed to get his arms up to cushion the blow. His solace was short-lived, though, as he and the rest of his remaining companions were sent hurtling toward the cockpit with the next dizzying spin.

Padme slipped out of Brummel's grasp, flipping up over Crinnin and the pilot's console and toward the gaping hole in the windshield left by Rucient's harrowing exit.

"Obi-Wan!"

The Jedi righted himself quickly and with a desperate lunge, he managed to position himself between Padme and her potential demise, bracing his legs against the console and his arms against what was left of the windshield, its jagged glass opening new lacerations up and down both of his palms as the rush of air from outside struck him full-force like a series of brutal body shots.

"Brummel!" he exclaimed through gritted teeth.

The padawan was still reeling, though, out of touch with his surroundings, and Obi-Wan's voice sounded so distant, so very distant. He was being tossed about at gravity's will, and each time, his friend's voice sounded further and further away.

Crinnin looked up over Obi-Wan and Padme, gripping his seat with tentative success, but losing some measure of that prosperity when he noticed in horror that they were mere seconds from the tree-tops.

"We're out of time! Jump!"

With a quick, strained glance over his shoulder, Obi-Wan gathered Padme into his arms and released himself to the wind, turning so that he absorbed the first blow from the first tree.

Crinnin grabbed hold of Lunar's arm, hauling the unconscious Jedi up onto the console. The transport struck its first tree, ricocheting off and sending Lunar spilling out, his prone form embarking on a journey of sickening collisions with bark.

Brummel tried to regain his focus, but blackness was too inviting. The last thing he saw was Crinnin's tortured eyes before he drifted off into some endless crepuscle.


	20. Improvisation

A/N: Well, real life has relented just a little bit. Thank God. I should be updating this a little more regularly. I certainly am intending to finish it. Would be a shame to get this far and leave it all hanging. Hope there's still readers of this, and hope you let me know what you think with a review. It's appreciated. Okay, hope you enjoy.

* * *

Crinnin pressed a hand to his forehead and swallowed a scream as an explosion of pain sprung from the deep laceration there. He knew he'd have a sizeable scar there if he lived long enough for the cut to heal. That had been a less than peaceful descent and he knew that it was likely he was the only one to survive it. Lunar and Rucient had been unceremoniously tossed out the window, as had Obi-Wan and Padme. His only campion inside the craft was Brummel. With a moan, the young Jedi lifted his head and scanned the vessel with eyes made blurry by concussion. 

"Brummel?" he croaked. "Brummel?"

His eyes fell on his friend's body. The prone man's shirt was torn in several places, revealing deep, jagged, vile cuts on several regions of his skin. Crinnin might have vomited at the sight of it on any other day, but this was certainly not any other day. The destruction and death and sickening disfigurement he'd seen and caused and might still endure were enough to desensitize any man interested in the preservation of his own self. As he looked upon his unmoving friend, some small part of him prayed he would die on this day, prayed that he would not live life under the shadow of darkness that was falling, prayed that he'd not spend each moment awake and asleep with the image of those he had struck down resonating in his mind.

"You know," a hoarse voice called out, "We should really get the navigation controls checked on this thing."

Crinnin's face broke out in a slow grin. He should have known a horrific collision with the ground wouldn't be enough to put an end to his young counterpart. His smile faded when he thought of all his other fellow Jedi who hadn't survived the crash. The image of Spreece and Horvoath choking to death, fervently trying to inhale air, their arms flailing up toward their crushed tracheas. He saw Windu's head torn off his shoulders. And then his Master, Rucient's chair ripped from the deck and sent careening through the broken glass ahead. And as he looked about now, he could see the remains of some of them.

"Are you all right, Brummel?"

Brummel groaned as he rolled over onto his back.

"That's an interesting way of putting it."

Crinnin crawled over toward his friend and helped him off of the deck and into a sitting position against one relatively intact strip of the ship's shredded metal. Brummel hissed in pain and looked down at his leg to find the source. A jagged piece of steel had found its way into the flesh of his calf, not far from the wound he'd received on the bridge. Crinnin followed his eyes.

"Oh, damn..." he said. "Hold still. It looks like it found the muscle."

Crinnin moved to a squat beside the afflicted leg, then reached a tentative hand down to brace himself against Brummel's knee. Brummel gasped as the motion jarred the injury. Perhaps it was his Jedi training or his high threshold for pain or the shear scope of loss he'd witnessed today, but through his agony, he found a clarity of thought. He wished he hadn't, though. He'd felt like they would finally be able to regroup. It had been exponentially comforting to be in the presence of Windu and Lunar, two venerable Council members who brought a calmness and confidence so powerful that it had imbued him with a placidity of his own. Then, with the snap of a hand, it was taken from him. With snap of a hand, his dear friends, Obi-Wan and Padme, were lost to him as well. He felt tears prick at his eyes at the memory of Obi-Wan and Padme soaring out into the treetops. His dear friend and mentor, the dear friend he'd sworn to protect, gone.

"This is going to hurt," his companion said softly.

Brummel shut his eyes.

"Just do it, Pen."

They could hear the scream in the vacuum of space.

* * *

Pratt's eyes were cloudy with hate, a tangible loathing reflected in the eyes of Palpatine and in those of Ovid. The dim lighting left the Chancellor in relative darkness, leaving him virtually unilluminated but for the red of his stygian optics, which inspired fear and reluctance even in the most sinister of company, even in this turncoat and baneful apprentice. It hadn't occurred to Pratt what he was giving up until just this moment, this eerie silence that spread through the air like a communicable disease and choked the life out of all in its path. All those years he'd spent training since his childhood, all those countless lives he'd saved over the decades, all that he did out of love for his young apprentice -- it was all gone, all done away with the moment he accepted the darkness into his heart. And yet, he was glad he'd done it. He'd never felt so alive, so powerful. The universe would forever be under the control of this oligarchy and its successors. 

"The sun has set on the Jedi Order," Palpatine said. "Their chosen one lay dead, and their numbers have dwindled to three. Three men to face the immortal power of the Dark Side."

There was a flicker of emotion in Pratt's eyes at that, but it was extinguished in short order.

"They will come for me," the Chancellor continued. "They will come for me, and we will decide the war."

Ovid's voice emerged confidently from the darkness.

"There will be no one left alive to confront you, my Lord. Three men are no match for our powers."

Palpatine's eerie smile encouraged him to continue.

"I laid waste to the one who was to balance the Force. So too will I end the Order before the sun dawns anew."

Pratt watched him a moment, then shut his eyes and communed with the Force. It had been difficult to sift through images before. Now, though, sensing the remaining Jedi was a matter of ease. Brummel. He was alive. The Master frowned and bowed his head.

* * *

Obi-Wan grunted as he pulled himself up off of his back with a loose grip on the trunk of a tall tree, which stretched up, up, up, out of sight and into what had once been open and blue and bloodied by the sun, but was slowly conceding now to that malevolent black abyss that swallows the lives of stars. A look down at his arm confirmed his suspicions -- it had been wrenched from its socket on the brutal trip down. He'd absorbed most of the blows, but one look at Padme's bruised body made his efforts seem direly lacking. He watched her stir gingerly. 

"Padme, are you all right?"

The senator maneuvered up onto her posterior with some urgency at the sound of his voice. Her eyes teared up anew at the sight of him, his useless limb dangling in a way that was so unnatural. He smiled reassuringly.

"Obi-Wan..."

He could see the pain -- it shot out the flesh of his arm and took up residence in her eyes.

"It's not as bad as it looks, love."

She crawled over to him and lay her hand on his cheek, stroking it with her thumb. He covered it with the hand from his uninjured arm and held it there. When she leaned in, Obi-Wan could make out the contusion on her neck, brownish red with the unrelenting memory of what had put it there. Though neither knew it, their thoughts were in perfect sync, both filled with a melancholy that transcended pain at their respective battered bodies. He sighed and rolled his head to the left, avoiding her eyes as he took a moment to clench against the throbbing of his displaced arm. The last sliver of sun penetrating the foliage shone on his profile and it was only now that Padme recalled how sick he still looked, and it was only now that she could make out the fresh batch of lacerations, which trailed up from his cheek, over his temple, and disappeared into the brown of his hair, which itself was copper now in several spots with dried blood.

"Obi-Wan?"

He turned his head back toward her.

"Where's Brummel?"

The Jedi shut his eyes. In all likelihood, their dear friend had died in the crash. He still held out hope, just as he held onto hope that Lunar and Rucient had managed to survive, but he knew the chances were at best slim. For all their heart and courage and valor and dedication in trying to ensure that goodness won the day, all that was left of the Jedi Order was him, him and his love. Now that he was alone to look over her, he wasn't sure he could bring himself to face the Chancellor, not sure he could leave Padme to fend for herself. If that made him a coward, if that made him an accessory to the triumph of evil, then that was how it had to be. What was the universe without Padme in it?

"Padme," he said gently. "I... he..."

It was a thought he never completed. The Force flowed through him with abrupt vigor, but while jarring, it wasn't in the slightest unwelcome, for it carried on its back the image of Brummel and Crinnin, wounded but very much alive inside the downed transport. Brummel's palor was nearly as sickly as his own as he reclined against one of the vaguely intact stretches of hull. Crinnin appeared to be in considerably better shape, though he was himself not uninjured. Obi-Wan winced as Brummel's scream tore through his cerebellum, then settled as a sick feeling in his gut.

Padme returned her hand to his cheek, patting it several times to get his attention.

"Obi-Wan, what is it?"

His eyes finally refocused and when they met hers, she could see the hope there, and so it was reflected in her own. It was a commodity in short supply on this day, and she knew her betrothed was not one for unfounded sentiment. He didn't disappoint.

"Brummel, he's alive. And Crinnin too."

The revelation took her by surprise and for a moment she was speechless. She would have cried for Crinnin, just as her eyes were wet with tears at the passing of Windu and Lunar and Rucient and Spreece and Horvoath and the deaths of countless constituents, but short of Obi-Wan's passing, she could think of no death which would so cripple her as Brummel's. How bizarre it was that she'd grown this attached to him in such a short time. How serendipitous it was that she would uncover in her greatest hour of need the only lifeline the universe could have ever offered -- her eternal bond with Obi-Wan, which was all at once sudden and yet endlessly nurtured through all of time, waiting, waiting for the moment when they would come to know it as it had always known them.

"Where are they? We have to find them."

He tilted his head and gestured with a nod to the east, the direction the transport had been traveling during its cataclysmic descent. Padme followed his eyes, then sprung to her feet.

"We have to get to them," she insisted breathlessly. "They could be hurt."

When Obi-Wan made no move to follow, she looked back at him with the briefest of confused expressions. When she saw his pained expression, she wanted to drive her head clean through the trunk of the tree ahead of her. The perverted angle of Obi-Wan's arm hadn't changed. She knelt back down beside him with guilty eyes and ran her hand through his hair. If he held it against her, it didn't show.

"I'm sorry, love. I..." Padme looked away. "I forgot for just a second. Can you walk like this?"

He gripped the hand in his hair firmly with his own.

"It's okay," the Jedi said kindly, his voice hoarse. He looked at her intently, soberly. "But darling, I need you to do something for me now, something you don't want to do."

If he thought she was going to leave him behind, he had another thing coming. His galaxy-saving antics would only go so far, as would her patience. Her eyes bore an intensity twice his own.

"I'm not leaving you here and I'm not hiding and I'm not staying out of the way and I'm not doing anything without you by my side, you frustrating, wonderful, stubborn son of a bitch!"

Padme realized she'd miscalculated Obi-Wan's intentions when she saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes and the slight upturn of his lips, so slight in fact that if it were anyone but her, anyone whose life was not devoted to spotting it, they'd have never seen it in a million years. After a moment, though, the lips turned back down, and his eyes were replete once more with the solemn insistence of seconds prior.

"You're not leaving me, Padme," he said, stroking her hand softly. "But I need you to help me. Do you think you can do that?"

She nodded quickly. He smiled gently and pressed on.

"My shoulder's out of the socket. I'm going to need you to reset it for me."

Obi-Wan saw her pale at that. She knew it would be painful, so painful. The thought of her being its cause forced bile up into her throat, though she was quick to recover and send the bitter taste back from whence it came. But then, she was certain the pain he was in now was worse than what she would inflict putting the joint back to normal. And he certainly couldn't aptly defend them in his present state.

Tears pricked at her eyes as she helped him slide away from the bracing oak and onto his back. Once he was supine and had feasted on the dolor that threatened to escape him as a tormented scream, he rested his head on the ground and caught his breath before instructing her further.

"All right, press your boot into the underside of my arm."

It took Padme a few seconds, but joy and pride struck her hard when she managed to do it without much of a reaction from Obi-Wan.

"Okay... now take hold of my hand, get a good grip with both your own."

She carefully took hold.

"Good, Padme, you're doing wonderful," he said through gritted teeth. "Now, just lean back, and when I tell you, jerk back as hard as you're able."

The prospect did little to entice her. She frowned at him, as if he were making this harder than it had to be. When he met her eyes again, though, she nodded mutely and offered an anemic smile.

Obi-Wan shut his eyes. Padme inhaled shakily.

"On three, love."

She nodded as he began to count.

"One, two..."

In the near distance, the sounds of war resurfaced. Padme looked out as far ahead as she could see and could make out faintly the outlines of a large group, and with her ears, she heard the sound of blaster fire, light shots, warnings perhaps, and she could hear the barking of orders, but couldn't make out just what those orders were. Whether he sensed something or whether his foreboding was on account of the same data she'd collected with her own eyes and ears, Obi-Wan looked at her with a chilling urgency she was helpless to deny.

"Do it, Padme!"

With all the strength in her slender body, she tugged.

* * *

Crinnin climbed up and peaked his head out through a human-sized gap to look outside the craft. He received a warning shot for his efforts before dropping back down into the transport beside Brummel. There were at least a hundred men out there, surrounding them on three sides and appearing very much well-armed, well-nourished, and heavy with their penchant for violence. Crinnin could see Horvoath's mangled body over Brummel's shoulder, an eerie reminder of the consequences of their current predicament. 

"They've got us pinned down out there."

"How far back are they?"

"Only about twenty feet."

Brummel laid his head back against the makeshift wall behind him. There was no way out of this. But if they hadn't killed them yet, they either wanted something or weren't yet authorized. Perhaps the clones were meant to take them alive to the Emperor, put them to rot in cells with the other captured Jedi. Even as the thought crossed his mind, though, he had serious doubts as to the existence of said Jedi. He could sense none but Crinnin and himself. It finally struck him full-on that Obi-Wan and Padme were dead. He'd failed his dear friends in every way conceivable.

"Are they still there?" he asked, the answer obvious as mere seconds had passed.

Crinnin smirked and gestured with an open hand toward the gap he'd just peered up over.

"See for yourself."

Brummel smiled.

"Don't look now, Pen, but I think you were making light of our quandary."

Crinnin snorted at that and fell silent a moment. If they were truly all that was left of the Order, this world and this galaxy were doomed. He'd held such hope, always been optomistic, but when his heroes fell, Windu and Lunar one after the other, leaving only him and his companion (who, though he trusted him with his life and his soul, was merely a fell padawan aged to maturity), that positive zeal had been crippled.

The warning shots had stopped.

"What the hell are they doing out there?"

* * *

The young senator stepped between Ovid and Pratt and approached Palpatine. 

"Begging your pardon, Chancellor."

Palpatine sat back in his throne.

"What say you?"

"Bravo 12 is reporting they're surrounding the wreckage of a downed transport. There's at least one man, possibly two or three, within. They believe the ship matches the description of the one stolen by the Jedi."

The Chancellor laughed, a maniacal cackle that sent a shiver up the senator's spine.

"Bring them here."

The young senator nodded curtly, then turned on his heel and left to deliver the message.

* * *

"Where's your lightsaber?" 

Brummel frowned, remembering his near-death back on the bridge, his tenuous hold on what had been their lifeboat, filled with holes and empty dreams now.

"Bottom of the channel by now, I imagine."

Crinnin nodded somberly, but took no time for reflection. If they wanted to live, they'd best reflect when not surrounded by scores of slaves trained to murder them. He stood up in a crouch and took a few steps past his companion, stopping beside Spreece's corpse. Brummel watched numbly as his friend attempted to pry the fallen Jedi's lightsaber from his dead hand. The fragility of life had never been more apparent. It wasn't lost on Brummel that Spreece's lightsaber was not on his belt, but in his hand, at the ready, as if he could hold off any attack from any man who might encroach on his space. Instead, though, he'd been killed almost instantaneously. By the time he could react, the ink on his death certificate was half-dry.

Finally, Crinnin was able to wrest it from his hands. He moved back to Brummel's side and offered it to him. The Jedi stared at it a moment, then accepted it.

"A little morbid, Brummel, I know, but..." He sounded as if he might trail off, but he bowed his head and finished the thought. "Nothing's sacred when you shake hands with death."

His friend nodded grimly. Crinnin frowned.

"I was wrong, you know."

"About what?"

"I don't like you better when you're grim."

Brummel reached up and grasped Crinnin's arm at the elbow to pull himself up, hissing just a bit as he put weight on his beleaguered leg for the first time in a while. He wasn't quite sure what their plan of action would be, but he was quite certain they wouldn't be able to wait the clones out. He was sure as well that whatever chance they had of winning this war lie within Theed.

"What if we surrender ourselves?"

Crinnin's eyes widened. "In case you hadn't noticed, they don't seem to be in the mood for accepting surrenders today."

Brummel's voice rose.

"Well, we can't exactly fight a war from the great beyond, can we!" he snapped. "All I know is, if we surrender, we've the possibility of survival, no matter how marginal it is. If we're alive, there's still a chance."

There was a pause as Crinnin considered his friend's words. He couldn't argue the logic, but still, some large part of him was absolutely certain they'd be gunned down the instant they showed their faces. Yesterday seemed so long ago. He'd walked idley in the gardens, wished something exciting would happen, wished he'd be given the chance to prove his worth and to cement in the minds of the Jedi Council members the notion that he had the potential to one day be a part of the ancient governing body. He wondered what Master Windu would do.

Finally, he relented, and it was not without levity that he looked Brummel square in his eyes and asked: "I take it you'd like to go first, then?"

Brummel smiled softly, clipping Spreece's lightsaber onto the back of his belt. Crinnin did the same with his own.

"I'll see you soon, old friend," Brummel said. "One way or another."

He gripped the jagged edge of the steel panel above and began to haul himself up out of the transport.

* * *

Padme crouched down beside Obi-Wan, who had found relative cover in a patch of thick, but short shrubbery, close enough to get a good idea of the situation, but not close enough to acquaint himself with much in the way of specific details. She watched his eyes survey the land and in them she could see the gears turning inside his head, and the way his forehead wrinkled and unwrinkled as he was deep within these thoughts gave credence to the analogy. His expression changed by the milisecond, as if some divine and incomprehensible collection of turbines was being worked too hard, too fast, and for too long. 

She followed his gaze to the transport, some two hundred yards away. Even from here, she knew it was their fallen craft. Her eyes were quite certain, and even if they deceived her, she could feel Brummel from here. The clones stood at the ready on three sides of the ship, guns trained and looking for an excuse to discharge them. Her initial glee at the prospect of recovering their comrades was replaced now with a dejected cynicism she'd scarcely felt in her entire life. Three men left to fight a war, two of them at death's doorstep. Padme glanced back at Obi-Wan, and suddenly the whole of her disconsolation vanished. He looked so determined.

"From the looks of things, they're still -"

Obi-Wan cut himself off as he saw in the distance Brummel and Crinnin emerge, standing atop the shambles of the dismembered ship. Neither he nor Padme spoke for several seconds as they waited for the their friends' imminent demise. It didn't come, though. Instead, one clone appeared from out of the crowd and stepped closer to the transport, wary, but confident. From here, they couldn't tell, but they imagined he was communicating with the cornered Jedi.

"Well, perhaps it's on to plan B," Obi-Wan said, moving to stand.

Padme grabbed his arm and pulled him back down beside her.

"Obi-Wan!" she cried out in a frustrated whisper. "What _is_ plan B?"

He stood again, surveying the scene a final time before he leaned back and kissed her on the forehead.

"Stay here, love. I'll be back."

Stay here! If she wasn't worried about the noise, she'd have slapped him right there, maybe given him a few punches to his tender ribs. She understood the sentiment. In fact, in this present situation, especially with her unarmed, she knew she'd be a liability, but it angered her to no end how cavalier he was about his own life. In fact, she was going to tell him as much.

But by the time his lips left her forehead, all her anger was displaced by concern.

"Obi-Wan!" she whispered desperately. "You don't even know what you're going to do!"

The Jedi unclipped his lightsaber and his face relaxed into that slight smile that only she could make out.

"M'lady," he said with jesting bravado, "Improvisation is my speciality."

And then he was gone.


	21. Looking Down the Barrel

A/N: Well, I am still writing here. Hopefully some of the folks who have been reading haven't given up on this one. Reviews are appreciated -- the good, the bad, whatever. Here we go.

* * *

Crinnin looked out over the mass of troops with scarcely concealed terror. Troops in this quantity of any ilk would be unnerving enough, but there was something entirely too eerie about the uniformity of these men, utterly indistinguishable from one another. Each was armed to the teeth with the latest and most lethal in field combat gear and weaponry, all on the coin of the Republic constituents' tax dollars most likely. They looked so efficient. 

"This is uncomfortable," the Jedi said, musing to himself that thatremark was very much the understatement of the eon. "Entirely uncomfortable."

Brummel's tone was light, but the slight tremor in his hand was not lost on his companion.

"I thought you'd rather enjoy being the center of attention."

"Oh, I don't mind the attention," Crinnin said. "I'd just prefer to be the eulogizer and not the dead body."

Brummel cracked a smile at that, but it faded as one of the clones forced his way through the crowd with a disposition that was somehow more alarming than his like-faced counterparts. There was a confidence in his gait that couldn't be replicated in a petri dish, an ebullient knavery in the barely circular brown of his eyes that was too dear to him to share with his doppelgangers, and while his intents were most certainly deleterious, to watch him move was to observe how sincere he was in his feeling that all things evil served the common good.

Crinnin shivered as the dark-eyed clone came to a stop some five feet back from the wreckage of the craft. His voice was inconsistent, rough in one instant and then smooth in another, like those rare places where gravel feeds right into pavement without interruption.

"Put your hands in the air, and come down off there," the duel-voiced clone growled, leveling his gun on the pair. "Or you will die in this next instant."

Brummel took a shaky breath, watching Crinnin out of the corner of his eye.

"I was hoping we'd start with ambiguous threats and work our way up, but that's fine too," he said, his voice wavering even as he saw fit to joke.

The clone leader snarled.

"Perhaps your tongue will be blunted when you are in the company of your Chancellor, Jedi."

Brummel slowly lifted his hands in the air, stilling their rheumatic quality through a brief communion with the Force. He took two slow, hobbled steps toward the edge of the craft.

"It will take some doing, but I'm sure he can manage."

Crinnin lifted his foot to take a step ahead and join his friend, but as it lingered in the air, his senses awakened to a state of consciousness they'd never enjoyed. He was very suddenly aware of everything and everyone around him, consumed by the lay of the land and those inhabiting it and by the subtlest of ways in which nature was interacting with man, and man with nature. He felt vibrations, so slight at first that not a single person around him could make them out.

After a moment, he felt the ground begin to shake, but still, so slight and seemingly inconsequential that it was secret to all but him. There was no wind to speak of, but after another moment, he saw the leaves up in the canopies begin to shake, barely at first, but more and more as the seconds wore on. He was acutely aware of Brummel's puzzlement and fear at the fact that he'd not joined him just yet in complying with the clone's demands, but he was concentrating too deeply now to pay it any mind. Something was happening.

He could hear the clone shouting at him, but he never bothered with an effort to discern the words. The leaves began to shake vigorously now, and a moment later, so too did the ground beneath them all begin to shudder in earnest. Then the trees, those tall, majestic, unshakable trees, began to rock back on their startled roots.

That finally garnered the attention of the clones, shocked out of their collective reverie by the quaking ground, the men throwing wild, dismayed glances in every direction as five of the towering trees looked ready to crash down on their heads.

Brummel threw a quick, questioning glance back over his shoulder at Crinnin. And then it happened. The forest seemed to implode as tree after tree fell from the sky, one after another, speeding toward the ground as if the universe depended on it.

The clones began to disperse as the descending trees came down toward them from all sides with a baleful sprightliness then mad had thought they had a monopoly on. Recovering from his initial shock, and still looking to the sky with one eye, the clone leader turned sharply back at the two Jedi and fired off several rounds.

Crinnin reacted quickly.

"Brummel!"

He grabbed the Jedi by his arm and dropped blindly backward toward the makeshift hatch they'd emerged from not long prior. The leader's blaster shots sailed haplessly into the distance, and his weapon was forever silenced a moment later when the thick oak giant from the sky flattened all that had been him.

The very same tree that had so abruptly ended the clone leader's life tore through much of the fallen transport as well, and it was not without luck or the grace of some unknown entity that it missed Brummel's and Crinnin's pain-racked bodies by mere inches as they tried desperately to regain their wits.

Outside the transport, dozens of the Chancellor's soldiers were crushed effortlessly, brutally by the Jedi's unexpected frondescent allies.

"Pen, are you all right?" Brummel asked, spitting a swig of blood from his mouth as he flailed about before finally managing to get to his knees.

Crinnin did the same before he could manage a reply.

"That's an interesting way of putting it," he said, mimicking his friend's earlier remark, swallowing a vulgarity as he pressed a hand to his ribs. "We have to get out of here _now_ if we're ever going to."

From his knees, Brummel moved to a squat.

"What the hell happened?"

"Wasn't an earthquake; someone _did_ that."

Brummel looked perplexed for a moment, but then, a feeling of hope gripped him and he wasn't disciplined enough to stymie it. He smiled briefly, breathlessly, the moment mature with possibilities.

"Obi-Wan," he said, managing a soft, doddering laugh. "That dog won't stay down."

Crinnin lay a hand on his shoulder as he unclipped his lightsaber, pulling the young Jedi out of his brief musing.

"We, however, will if we don't extricate ourselves from this predicament in short order, old friend."

Brummel shook his head, as if the action alone could legislate the enterprises of his drifting, weary, wavering mind, which had needed no coaxing to work out an explanation that might have spared the life of his dear mentor.

"Quite right," he said, pulling his own lightsaber from his belt. "We're going to have to cut our way out."

Crinnin ignited his lightsaber and speared it into the twisted metal of the nearby hull, pressing forward with all his weight until it had passed through to open air, then rotating counter-clockwise in a semi-circle. To his left, Brummel likewise brought his weapon to life and pierced through the hull. He began moving clockwise, and after some thirty seconds or so, their blades met at the top of their slapdash circle.

Brummel paused apprehensively and turned to his friend.

"What do you think?"

Crinnin looked back at him with an expression neither could classify, some hybrid of triumph and defeat and humor and sobriety, speaking everything that ever could be spoken and yet not saying a single thing.

"You don't have a lot of lives left," he offered finally.

They watched each other a moment longer, Brummel smiling, and then, with a nod of understanding, they turned and barrelled into the cleaved section of the hull, inviting fresh lacerations as they broke through and tumbled into the open air outside.

The instant they hit the ground, their lightsabers sent rolling away from them, the two Jedi were met with the barrels of four guns, and there was no hesitation in the clones' eyes at using them. It was probably too much to hope that the offer of surrender still stood amidst this chaos. They knew the Chancellor's first priority would be to ensure they didn't escape, and if that meant their demise, then that's what it would come to.

As he looked up at the business end of the automatic blaster, Brummel could scarcely believe that this was how it was all going to end. After all the close calls and the daring rescue on the bridge and their near escape just moments prior, he was going to go out flat on his back and weaponless. Crinnin shut his eyes and choked on a sob.

Dozens of pinpoint shots tore through the backs of the clones, remerging through their chests and absorbed finally by the wreckage of the transport. The Chancellor's quartet of soldiers dropped to their knees and then finally to the ground, dead.

Brummel raised a hand as one of the bodies fell toward him and feebly pushed the corpse off of him, turning sharply thereafter to make sure Crinnin was unharmed. His eyes followed his companion's gaze toward their saviors, five Naboo servicemen hurrying toward them with grave, ardent expressions.

Crinnin crawled toward their lightsabers with a manic fervor, clutching at his like it was his most cherished loved one when he reached it, then grabbing Brummel's and tossing it over to him. Two of the soldiers reached down and helped them up before deferring with a glance to their Captain, a stone-faced man in his middle years with lines and wrinkles and scars that wove a tale more aptly, the Jedi imagined, than any words ever could.

"We have to go, _now_!"

It was only then that Brummel had a chance to look around. The fallen trees had created a maze of sorts, tall barriers that turned back mortal man at what seemed like every turn. There wasn't much time to consider their options as a fresh batch of clones began to trade fire with the Naboo servicemen.

"Move!" the Captain yelled, shuffling sideways as he continued to lay down fire on the band of surviving clone troops. "Keep moving, keep moving!"

The clones had them outnumbered by at least ten, but they were still a fair distance away, most of their shots straying off into the distance harmlessly. Brummel and Crinnin held their lightsabers in a death grip, but felt uncompelled just yet to defend themselves with them. None of the incoming fire was that accurate.

Brummel's breath came out in dying pants. His legs felt so heavy.

* * *

Padme covered her ears, glancing carefully around the tree every few seconds for any sign of Obi-Wan before the sight and sound of blaster fire would send her recoiling. "I'll be back," he'd said. Those were famous last words if she'd ever heard any. If he didn't return soon, she'd just have to take matters into her own hands and go find him herself. She wasn't going to lose him again, not after she'd only just found him. 

She felt tears prick at her eyes as she pondered the fates of Brummel and Crinnin, who had disappeared from her eyes amidst the calamity of falling trees no doubt caused by Obi-Wan. And she knew that if he had sealed their fate with that action, he'd never forgive himself. Even if they triumphed on this day, she wondered if he'd ever be whole again. They'd not shared words on the subject, but if his usual pattern held, he blamed himself for the deaths of Windu, Spreece, Horvoath, Lunar, and Rucient. When they spoke of Anakin, he'd been tortured by his abence, by his failure to be there for his padawan. To lose these final two Jedi to a spur-of-the-moment scheme might be the end of him. But then, it was with eerie, unsettling clarity that she realized the odds were, he'd never have to come to grips with any of this, because neither of them would survive through the night.

But as was her way, she was so consumed with his affairs and not her own that she hadn't stopped to consider the toll of her own guilt. Whether the Force dictated the coming of this day or not, Obi-Wan and Anakin and Brummel and Pratt had all come here because _she_ had been threatened, because someone wanted harm done _her_. And so in that regard, this was her fault, not anyone else's, most certainly not Obi-Wan's. She felt endlessly guilty concerning her musings about Anakin. The boy had been fixated on her, very forward, very cocky, but when she took into account all that she knew to be true, she knew Anakin had been good at heart, his selfish tendencies and overconfidence just layers of sediment overtop a truly admirable compassion.

Brummel's vision had insisted that he go to Theed, had insisted that the war could only be won there. His companions had concurred with him, the prevailing and yet unspoken sentiment seeming to be that only through a direct confrontation with Chancellor Palpatine could victory be secured. Surely, the lines between the real and the surreal had been blurred today, but she couldn't figure how, even if they were to strike down Palpatine, that would resolve the conflict as waged by the millions of others. She would trust them, though. They'd been right about everything so far. But she knew that they had to go soon, for the battle had been all but lost by the Jedi loyalist forces. Proportionally, their numbers had dwindled to just as frightening an extent as had the Jedi's.

The sound of footsteps ripped her from her thoughts and she instinctively jumped to her feet and turned toward the sound. From out of thin air seemingly, a clone stepped around the tree and with a startled gasp, planted his back heel and spun his gun around to deliver a fatal blast.

Padme lunged thoughtlessly for the gun, grabbing hold of it in the middle and jerking it upward so that the shot zipped over her shoulder. The clone pulled his gun snug to his chest, and Padme with it, then used her momentum against her, shoving her off-balance and down onto her back.

He leveled his gun on her once more, but his aim was disrupted again by a fortuitously timed kick to the shin. This one was much closer, singeing the edge of her shirt along her neck before being absorbed by the ground.

With a quickness thereafter that drew a formal protest from her sore body and a look of eternal surprise from her attacker, Padme sprung back to her feet and hurtled herself toward him, knocking the gun out of his hands and through the air to the ground several feet away.

Her body was much slighter than his, though, and as they tumbled toward the forest floor, he easily shifted their bodies so that he came down on top of her. She struggled to reverse their positions, but his strength was too much contend with. He pinned her arms down above her head with one potent grip, then reached into the sheath on his leg with his other hand and pulled out a metallic knife.

"No!" Padme screamed. "No! Get off of me!"

She managed to get an arm free and closed it around the clone's wrist, doing all she could to stop the knife from descending toward her chest. In his focus, his grip on her other arm loosened, and once free, she closed the other hand around his wrist as well. It was no use, though. The knife drew closer, closer.

Padme gritted her teeth when she felt the blade touch her skin, then felt the initial puncture. In a moment, she'd be dead. She had to do something, something, something, anything at all, something. He shifted his weight to try and get a better angle to drive the knife down into her, but it unwittingly alleviated the pressure just enough so that she could wreste her leg from him and deliver a sharp, quick, brutal knee to the clone's groin.

He cried out in pain and rocked backward, the knife going with him. It had given her a moment, but his steely eyes made clear his resolve and he raised the knife to deliver one swift, violent thrust into her chest. She shut her eyes.

But Padme didn't feel the pain she'd expected to. In fact, she could feel the clone's weight shift backward and could hear him choking or gargling or both. When she opened her eyes, he was clutching at his throat, which bled so profusely that it seemed to cover his entire body, and much of hers.

A boot came from out of sight and kicked the clone in the face, sending him off of her entirely and onto his back, where he died only moments later. She turned her head back and let out a strangled cry of relief to see Obi-Wan standing behind her.

He deactivated his lightsaber and dropped to his knees beside her.

"Padme, are you all right? Are you hurt?" he asked, scanning her for injuries. "Talk to me."

She threw her arms around him and sobbed. He held her to his chest, burying his cheek in her hair, rocking her back and forth.

"It's okay. I'm here. I'm right here."

The sound of blaster fire, once fairly distant, was drawing nearer. Obi-Wan lifted his head in alarm, but continued rocking her, running a dirty hand through her hair. He squinted and could see a band of seven men who looked like they were retreating. Chances were they were friendlies.

"It's all right, Padme," he said. And he hoped it was true.


	22. Focus

A/N: Sass, Manny, much obliged that you guys have stuck with this one. And to the new faces, thanks very much for the kind words. I'm writing this 'cause I enjoy it, but it gives me a little more energy and motivation when I can see folks are actually enjoying it, so everyone's remarks are very much appreciated. Sorry if it's a little bit on the short side. I felt sort of like this would be a good self-contained part before I transition.

* * *

Obi-Wan caught the clone's dead eye as he rifled through the pockets of the corpse's blood-stained jacket. After a moment, he paused and lifted a dirty hand to the soldier's face, shutting his eyes before returning to his search. 

"What are you looking for?" Padme asked, flinching with each blaster shot in the near distance.

"A data packet," the Jedi said with a grunt, the awkward angle of his reaching arm sending a fresh wave of pain up into his shoulder. "I had one earlier, but I lost it on the bridge. All the clones have them -- it contains orders, maps, maybe something that can give us a strategic advantage."

The retreating soldiers weren't distant anymore, no longer indistinct blobs, but rather flesh and blood destined to roll overtop the Jedi and his love, whose endless brushes with death would be rendered meaningless in one swift, pathetic moment of anticlimax. Padme knelt down beside Obi-Wan, tugging on his forearm. He glanced up at the incoming band of fighters, but quickly resumed his search of the body.

"Obi-Wan! They're coming!"

His mouth opened, but the strained, insistent words he'd meant to utter sputtered from his mouth and died as a heavy breath on the dirt below. It was providence, a gift from the divine, for no other force would be so benevolent as to deliver him the sense that it was in fact the last of their living companions who were closing in on them now.

He couldn't help but concede his face to the persistent, stubborn smile that fought so laboriously to control it. Padme met his eyes.

"_Brummel_, Padme!" Obi-Wan exclaimed, turning his eyes back to the approaching group, only some sixty feet out now. "It's Brummel."

With a tight squint, she followed his eyes and found the Jedi's identification very credible. It could well be their dear friend, their dear friend and a band of allies, which had been hard to come by this day, especially in the here and now, when only scattered survivors remained, and though her heart beat heavy with the lost of countless good men and woman and even children, it spared her a moment, let her pause as she waded through emotional mollases so that she could for a mere instant appreciate one simple pleasure on a day when all others dangled broken-necked from the gallows.

Obi-Wan's eyes stayed his glee's execution as his hand emerged from one of the pockets on the dead clone's pants with the data packet he was seeking.

"I do believe this day is looking up," he muttered, securing the small packet in one of the few untorn pouches on his tattered belt.

As he rose up to his feet, he pulled Padme with him, intending to steady her, but both their heads swam with the movement, and so each clutched the other until the first wave of dizziness passed and they could right themselves on their own.

"Brummel!" she shouted. "Brummel!"

Not too far off now, the two Jedi and their new allies spared a moment to glance back, only now seeing Obi-Wan and Padme for the first time, too cautious and consumed by the incoming fire to have looked back and spotted them sooner. Relief filled the stomachs of Brummel and Crinnin and spread out upward like the wind carrying fire in drought.

Instinctively, Padme started forward to meet them halfway, but Obi-Wan's firm grip on her upper arm stilled her.

It wasn't but some twenty seconds later that the gap had finally been closed and, with a grace that never quite reached his bones, Obi-Wan ignited his lightsaber and fell instantly into step with the Naboo soldiers and with his fellow Jedi, taking care first though to make sure Padme was behind their human wall. Her steps were clumsy and not at all fluid as the Jedi's, but she noticed they weren't so different from those of two of the younger military men, whose erratic gaits could scarcely be held against them given the circumstances.

Brummel smiled tightly. "Hello, old boy."

"We have to stop meeting like this," Obi-Wan quipped between deflections of enemy fire. "It's a tired formula."

"Now we're even," the padawan shot back.

Obi-Wan's concentration on their mortal danger made his next words sound grim, but Brummel recognized them for the light-hearted banter they were.

"Even? I had things well under control on that bridge."

"Of course, Master."

The affectionate moment exploded as one of the incoming rounds clawed through Crinnin's pectoral like some iniquitous groundhog ripping through earth. As quickly as the blaster shot did the damage, though, it was gone, leaving in its wake blood and burns and mangled tissues in a crude, six-inch circle that saved nothing for the imagination and could spare no room for romantic idealizations of what it meant to be wounded for one's cause.

He faltered, nearly falling the entire way to the ground before Brummel switched off his lightsaber and caught Crinnin's arm in a tenuous grip.

"Pen!" the young Jedi shouted, dragging his friend's feet and trying with the whole of his strength to keep the rest of his body a few feet up off the ground. "Pen, stand up! Stand up!"

Brummel's earnest words were lost to the air, though, and the once-synced group fell now into spastic chaos, breaking the wall in front of Padme and forcing her to call on some limber reserve she hadn't known was in her as she dropped to her stomach in narrow avoidance of a shot that would likely have torn through her skull.

The bedlam finally forced them all to a stop as Brummel's grip on Crinnin slackened and then finally failed him. The clones were closing on them now, the hit to Crinnin giving them the opportunity they'd been seeking.

Obi-Wan knelt down beside Brummel, who tried with no success to rouse his friend, and though Obi-Wan was able to protect the three of them from the clones' onslaught with his one-handed deflections, he could feel his fatigue setting in at the worst possible moment, could feel it stagger his concentration.

One of the soldiers squatted down beside Padme and took hold of her to lift her up, but his efforts froze in time as the contents of his head burst out the back and sent him sprawling forward to the ground beside her, where he moved no further. Padme cried out in shock, then reached a trembling hand to his limp neck, wet now with the matter of his brain and absent of a pulse that she knew it was logically ridiculous to check for.

"Pen, get up, right now!" Brummel yelled desperately into his friend's ear. "Get up, you son of a bitch!"

The Captain shouted over the shrill scream of discharging weapons with a gravelly brogue that was instantly discernable.

"Come on, move it! Keep moving!"

Brummel turned Crinnin over into his arms and slapped his friend in the face, lightly at first, then again harder, then a third time so hard that the stinging in his hand crept all the way up his arm.

"Get up! Get up!"

He tried once more to stand and pull Crinnin with him, but he couldn't quite muster the strength out of his beaten, battered body to keep the injured Jedi upright once they'd gotten to their feet.

Obi-Wan's eyes shifted wildly about as he took in their surroundings, then met Padme's eyes for a brief moment that filled him with terror when he saw the dead soldier beside her and knew how close he'd come to losing her. Something had to be done, and it had to be done now, lest their struggle to get to this point be rendered meaningless, lest the the destruction they'd endured and witnessed be in no way avenged.

His eyes found the foliage above. It had taken so much out of him to bring down the enormous trees that had facilitated Brummel and Crinnin's escape. He wasn't sure he could summon the energy to do it again, and if he could, he wasn't sure what it would do to him. Obi-Wan watched as Brummel violently smacked Crinnin across his face to keep his attention, then met Padme's petrified gaze once more.

The moment was broken as a shot whizzed by his face, and it was only then that he realized the extent of his idiocy. As he'd been pondering their situation, he'd stopped defending himself. Any number of shots could have killed him while he was in the midst of his musings. He leapt to his feet in front of Brummel and Crinnin and began once more to disperse the enemy fire with his lightsaber.

"Brummel!" Obi-Wan yelled, receiving no reply at first. "Brummel, Brummel!"

The younger Jedi looked up, and though Obi-Wan's back was to him, he could sense he had the padawan's attention.

"Cover me!"

Brummel looked back at the pained face of his fallen cohort, then eased him down with less gentleness than he would have preferred and found his feet, switching his lightsaber back on and moving to Obi-Wan's side. The clones were close enough that the Jedi could make out the faces of those standing in clear sight. It was of interest to both of them that, while the Chancellor's soldiers had been advancing steadily, many were making sure to stay behind cover, which suggested that the clones had some concept of self-worth, autonomous thought. That reluctance on their part was the only reason the Jedi and their Naboo comrades were still alive. But it only slowed the inevitable.

"Obi-Wan, what are you doing!"

The elder Jedi slid back behind his junior, who was clearly taxed already by the sheer volume of shots coming in. A reply would only distract him, so Obi-Wan didn't say another word, just shut his eyes and slipped off to that elusive place where he and the Force inhabitated the same energy, focusing, focusing, imploring his beloved partner in the universe to give him the strength for one more miracle.

Another Naboo soldier dropped to his back with death in his veins.

Padme crawled toward Crinnin and took him in her arms, turning her back and shielding him from the clones' fire.

Brummel lost his footing as a blaster shot grazed his temple, careening back toward the ground, defenseless, leaving Obi-Wan defenseless.

The clones took aim at the venerable Jedi Master.

Obi-Wan's body quaked, and the trees began to fall.


	23. Compound L84

A/N: Okay, I went back and proofread this today, so hopefully I've managed to eliminate all the mistakes. Apologies if anything went through. Many thanks to sassy and weiver and cello and charie and madya and manni. I really appreciate that you guys are following along and that you took the time to say these nice and encouraging things. I have a good idea where this is going and I cautiously say we'll be starting to head down the home stretch soon, so I hope you guys stick with me here because I'm pretty content with where this is going and where it's going to end up. Thanks a million, and hope you enjoy this installment.

* * *

The clones who weren't flattened were entirely blocked off by the massive trunks of the mighty, stubborn trees that Obi-Wan had so expertly coerced into severing ties with their roots for the sake of he and his band of wounded, desperate survivors. The overtaxed Jedi fell to the ground in time with their shrubbery saviors, his body claiming the rest it needed against his will, but wholly unharmed by the mass of weapons fire from the clones just moments prior. 

Padme dared to glance over her shoulder after a few moments, both endlessly relieved and terrified at the sights that greeted her -- their persuers done away with, and her love flat and unmoving for at least the tenth time that day, counting only those instances she'd been witness to. It might have been comical in another life, on another day. She didn't dare move to check on him, though, lest she jostle Crinnin, whose injuries she didn't know the full extent of.

Brummel lifted his head with a groan, and Padme looked pensively between he and Obi-Wan and the three surviving Naboo soldiers who shared their company. It wouldn't end like this. It couldn't. How many times had she thought she'd lost him that day? Or Brummel for that matter, or her own life.

The Captain shuffled over to Obi-Wan's side, setting down his bulky automatic weapon and taking the Jedi's pulse.

"It's steady," he said, the gruff, mechanical quality of his voice softened by the compassion his eyes held when he met Padme's gaze. "He's fine."

So overcome was she with relief at those words that it took more than ten seconds for her to realize that one of the other men, a world-worn, cynical and yet kind, considerate fellow, who looked two parts gentleman and one part warrior, knelt down beside her, running a nervous hand through a short crop of slowly receding hair, patiently waiting until he had her attention, then smiling faintly when he did.

"Your majesty," he said softly. "I'll take him."

Padme stared at him blankly a moment, so caught up in the gentle, muted magnanimity she saw there that she couldn't quite put together what it was he meant, who it was he'd take. When Crinnin began to quiver in her arms, everything came back to her. She nodded curtly and then, with no small degree of embarrassment, gingerly offered him to the kind militaryman, who lifted him out of her arms with great care and slung him over his shoulders with something more than ease and less than difficulty.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an extended hand, then turned to see Brummel looking down on her with a haggard, but amiable expression. She accepted his offer, but noted how much effort it took out of him to pull her up. The poor boy had been through so much today. It had been trying enough for her to live through what she had, but she'd not felt the burden of responsibility he had, nor were her injuries anywhere nearing the extent of his.

"Thank you," she said, smiling as wide as the sore muscles in her face would allow. "A gentleman to the end, Jedi."

He tried to return the smile, but found he didn't have the energy.

"Always for you, m'lady."

The Captain and the third Naboo soldier crouched down and pulled Obi-Wan up off the forest floor with their collective strength. Once he was upright, the Captain heaved him up over his broad shoulders in a fireman's carry, then gestured to the stretch of trees ahead of them.

"Let's get moving, before the next batch comes."

They walked on, as quick as they could, slowed surprisingly not by the Captain's burden of carrying Obi-Wan, but by Brummel's gait, which grew more sloppy each minute until finally, he accepted Padme's outstretched arm and left to her a portion of his pained legs' duties.

Crinnin's wounds were very serious and on several occasions, Padme insisted they stop to patch him up as best they could, but all she drew from the Captain was a grunt and an insistence they keep walking, and Brummel was too tired now to argue on his friend's behalf, his eyes lapsing shut for long stretches.

It surprised her somehow that the kind-faced man had not spoken up in her defense, and so after a time, she supposed he and the Captain knew something that she didn't yet. She stared at Obi-Wan's face, blank and serene now with sleep, though still bearing signs of the fever his body could not yet expel and the pain that would greet him anew when he woke. He looked so young, the shedding of his beard and the close new crop of his hair indicative not of a hallowed warrior, but of a scared kid doing the best he could. When her eyes fell back on Brummel, she didn't suppose the boy looked any younger than her love just now.

"What is it, Padme?" he asked tiredly.

She smiled and stroked his cheek affectionately.

"You're doing wonderful, Master Jedi. Just a bit further now."

Eventually, she took on most of his weight, and found it too trying after a time. The third soldier slipped next to her silently and accepted half of Brummel's weight without solicitation. The young Jedi was all but unconscious.

With each new minute, her fear for Crinnin grew more potent.

"Where are we going?" she demanded. "Where are we going, you fool?"

The Captain grunted, insisting they keep walking. She was in no position to argue, and so she swallowed her dissension and focused on her grip on Brummel. The boy was out cold now, his feet dragging without dignity and his strong young body limp as it was in the womb.

"You're doing wonderful, Master Jedi," Padme said, more for herself than him. "We'll find you a nice place to lay."

The kind-faced man dropped back beside her, careful of jarring Crinnin.

"It's not much further," he whispered temperately. "We'll be there soon, your majesty. Everything will be fine."

Padme smiled appreciatively and nodded, then fell silent the rest of the way.

* * *

Brummel opened his eyes, then covered them sloppily with both hands as he fought to adjust to the light, which wasn't really terribly bright anyway. He knew then that he was concussed at the least, and he wondered why that surprised him. His cloudy eyes came into focus as he groaned, and in the next moment, he could see Padme hovering over him, bathed in pale light like an angel slumming it downtown. She was saying something, but he couldn't make out the words. 

He rolled his head to the side, spotting Crinnin unconscious on a bed several feet away, heavy bandaging over his upper half and an unexpectedly serene expression gracing his young face. His young, poor face, marred with abrasions and lacerations that would forever remind him of this day if he were to live through it. Pen was a good looking man, he decided. The ladies on Coruscant had all thought so. He wondered suddenly if Padme found the boy attractive, if she found Brummel himself attractive. It wasn't something he'd ever worried about, but for some reason, in this lone tranquil moment away from the chaos, he wondered if women looked at him and wanted to look some more. He imagined they didn't.

For the first time, it occurred to him to examine his surroundings. They were in a darkish room, a few dim lights fastened up high along all four walls, which appeared for their part to be made of some thick, inpenetrable medley of concrete and steel he'd never seen a single time before. Curious, to say the least. They were underground, he surmised, but he couldn't venture a guess where.

His eyes fell back on Padme, and this time, he could make out the words when she spoke.

"Everything will be fine, Master Jedi," she said with a reassuring smile.

He nodded once, confidently, as if to convey he'd never thought otherwise. Her smile lingered when he finally managed words of his own.

"My head would not concur with that assessment, m'lady," the boy replied, pressing his palm into his scalp as he did. "Where are we?"

Padme's lips parted to tell him, but the words stalled on her tongue as the Captain strutted into the room fully intent on taking the matter up himself. He'd been kind to them so far, very kind, but there was something dark in his eyes, something she prayed wouldn't manifest itself and for which she wasn't sure she could blame him if it did. Most men weren't noble in times like these, and so far, it seemed he'd retained his humanity admirably.

"This is Compund L84," the Captain said, coming to a stop just over Padme's shoulder and planting his heel in the floor. "This is the last outpost standing on this planet in so far as we can tell, and we intend to make sure it remains operational. We've gone silent with any and all radio transmissions and we will maintain that silence indefiinitely. We're underground and sending out interference, so as long as we remain here, it is extremely unlikely the enemy will know of our presence within the next two to four weeks."

Brummel groaned and sat back against his elbows.

"What were you doing up there?"

"Every four hours, providing our scans of the surface reveal none of the enemy in the region, a small team has gone searching for survivors, weaponry, or strategic information," the Captain said, turning and walking over to Crinnin's bed, eyeing the Jedi as he continued speaking. "Those missions are on hold."

Brummel managed to push himself back up against the wall, where he rested his head.

"Why is that?"

The Captain craned his head and regarded the Jedi with the kind of soul-piercing stare he'd only seen from three men in his life -- Masters Windu, Lunar, and Yoda. It was embarrassing to the young man how eerie he found it. After all he'd endured today, this ranked amongst its most disconcerting moments?

"Because the mission objectives and results have proven unproportional to the costs."

Brummel looked at Padme, whose expression told him all he needed to know. She was well aware of the answer to his next question already.

"How many?"

"My team's count is at seven," the Captain replied tersely. "Twelve hours ago, there were three-hundred forty-nine."

The young Jedi shut his eyes. Several more of whatever remaining few there had been were gunned down in their rescue of he and Crinnin. The weight of that settled between the blades of his shoulders like a stone. More brave men died so that he could live. Brave men had died so that he could fail them. And he _would_ fail them. He had no doubt about that now.

His eyes widened with fear and embarrassment, and he felt some lethal bird grasp his heart with its talons.

"Padme! Obi-Wan! Is he...?"

The senator took hold of his shoulder with one hand and lay her other on his cheek, stroking it reassuringly with the pad of her thumb. If he wasn't in such a panic, and if his exclamation hadn't stirred up so many of her own fears from earlier, then she might have laughed at his expression, which belonged not to a pained young warrior, but instead to the overacting lead in some tragically bad stage play.

"He's fine," she said soothingly. "He's looking at some data down the hall."

Brummel nodded slowly as the information sank in. That was one thing he didn't have weighing on his heart for the moment at least. His three closest friends in universe were for the moment well. He glanced back over at Crinnin, though, and wondered if his definition of well was more loose than he'd first surmised.

The Captain followed the Jedi's gaze.

"He'll live," he said flatly. "Won't ever have full range of motion in his left arm again, but it's usable."

Brummel blanched at that. What a callous explanation. "Usable." What did that even mean? He knew Crinnin would adapt to the limited mobility, but just how limited was it? If they'd been at a hospital or back at the Temple, Brummel had no doubt that they'd have been able to assure his companion a full recovery, but out here, there was no healing. He fingered the cool steel of the lightsaber on his belt and wondered how aptly Crinnin would be able to wield his, how ably he could make good on three pounds of the only salvation in town.

The boy stood up with Padme's guiding grip and found his footing with an ease that surprised everyone.

"Let's see what trouble your other half's managed to create since our arrival, shall we?"

* * *

Obi-Wan reclined in his seat and shook his head as the Captain ran his finger across the screen illustratively, gesturing to a thin corridor on the three-dimensional map hovering above the large holo-screen. No one had been able to agree on much of anything, and as they might have expected, dissension was consistently confined to two groups -- The Jedi and Padme, and the Captain and his men -- though it was curious the kind-faced man's general silence. When he did speak, it was in an effort to smooth the temper of his commanding officer. 

The data packet had proved extremely useful, filled with maps, troop movements, and information on locations containing the likes of armaments, key military and political officials, and prisoners of war. After a half hour of debate, during which time the kind-faced man constantly reminded everyone that the information was undoubtedly time-sensitive and needed to be acted on sooner rather than later, the Jedi and the Captain had agreed that disrupting communications was the only real way to germinate chaos and get to the Chancellor.

While the Naboo military men had not bought into Obi-Wan's declarations that only the Jedi could end the war by slaying Palpatine, they did agree that their only hope of turning the tide of war before what was left of the loyalist armies were reduced to an insurrection was to take down the clones' leader. The clones' military hierarchy was extremely well-structured and adaptable, but only in so far as they were carrying out orders. If suddenly the head of the snake were to disappear and communications were disabled, it would be some time before one of the Chancellor's non-clone generals could step in and make cogent the occupation again.

Obi-Wan sighed.

"Captain, if he we enter through here, it's another thirty floors down to the communication's array. We need to enter on the ground level and get down to the sub-levels as soon as we're able."

The grizzled veteran gestured wildly.

"No!" he shouted. "There's more than three hundred loyalists being held on the twelfth floor. If we can get to them and free them, it makes our job exponentially easier, not to mention that we might be able to resecure Theed with that many men!"

Obi-Wan wasn't swayed.

"Captain, even if we do free them, by the time we're able to do so, word will have been spread and the Chancellor's men will pour into that building and exterminate us. This has to be a quick operation, in and out, if we are to have any chance of success."

"_Jedi_," he spat distastefully, "If we have any desire to wage a war and not a resistance, we will need men to do it. For all I know, the men in this room right now are all that's left of our entire coalition! I will not risk three hundred able bodies on your voodoo whims. Your prognostications do not convince me, nor have your methods to this point."

Padme eyed the Captain with a scarcely concealed disgust and anger that could be felt coming off of her in waves by everyone present. The kind-faced man might have smiled if not for the combustability of the present situation. He stood and crossed the room quickly, laying a hand on her shoulder to try and calm her, and leveling his gaze on his superior.

"Captain, perhaps if we eliminated the communications array first, then freed our men..."

This failed to pacify him.

"Goren, it's just like he said... once they know we're there, whoever's in the area is going to pour into that building, even with communications down... and once they're there, we won't have a prayer of freeing anyone. If we free them first, then we might be able to weather the clones' attack and still take out the array. It's the only thing that makes sense."

Goren, the kind-faced man, wanted to satisfy everyone, but inside, he knew the Captain was right. It was the logical course of action on nearly every level. Padme smiled and patted his hand, a subtle gesture of thanks. He turned his eyes on Obi-Wan, as did the rest of the room.

Obi-Wan didn't say anything at first, just leaned back in his chair again and ran a hand through his hair. He sighed, then scanned the room to gauge people's reactions. Brummel avoided his gaze and it was obvious to the elder Jedi that his friend had been persuaded by the Captain's explanation. He supposed that might have told him all he needed to know. It grew harder with each moment to deny the military man's logic, even if they didn't agree on _why_ it needed to be done.

He looked at Padme, and she back at him with an adoring, apologetic gaze, as if it mattered more to her what it might do to his ego to admit he was wrong than it did to do what was right for the cause. How he loved this woman.

"All right," Obi-Wan said, his eyes drifting past his love and through the wall. "All right, we enter on the tenth floor..."

The Captain nodded, pleased.

"_But_..." the Jedi continued. "We hit the communications array on sub-level twenty simultaneously... two teams with two different objectives."

A silence lingered, a collective breath held as everyone waited for the Captain to reply. He didn't for a time, and so anxious looks were exchanged liberally amongst Brummel and Padme and Goren and the rest of the soldiers. Brummel walked to the far wall, almost out of sight, and wrapped his arms tight around his chest, filled suddenly with the most powerful feeling of apprehension he'd had all day, one so strong that it felt like someone was reaching into his chest and tying his large intestine in knots so tight, he didn't think he'd ever process food again. Padme turned to look, but stopped halfway and gave him his privacy.

The Captain took a steady breath, then nodded finally.

"All right, Jedi," he said. "Two teams. Team one will take out the array, and it'll consist of myself, Lieutenant Goren... and the senator."

Obi-Wan's breath caught in his throat. He knew what the Captain was doing, trying to assure the Jedi's allegiance to the mission and the cause by splitting up the venerable warrior and his betrothed. Under the circumstances, he wasn't sure he could fault him, but it was still entirely unacceptable. He wouldn't leave her, not again. Not ever again.

But as he opened his mouth to tell the Captain it wasn't going to happen that way, he caught Padme's eye. This was the most intense look she'd ever given him that didn't contain love or relief or admiration. This was the expression of selflessness that so many had seen throughout the years, but amplified here to a degree he'd never seen. Her eyes told him that it would be done and that he hadn't a say in the matter. They told him that as much as he was her universe and she his, they still had obligations that she intended to see to their ends, and that she knew he did too.

After a moment, Obi-Wan relented.

"Okay," he said, not moving his eyes from her. "We'll enter on floor ten, and make our way up to free the prisoners. You'll head down to the bottom, and take out the array. You all rendezvous back here when we're done."

The Captain frowned.

"And you?"

Obi-Wan sat up in his chair.

"I'll have some business to attend to with the Chancellor."

No one had a chance to reply to that, or even digest it.

The red light above the main computer, fixed against the wall to the left of the holo-projector, began flashing, and with it rang the security klaxon that had been set to alert the compound of any movement nearby above the surface. Obi-Wan rushed over in step with the Captain, who leaned down quickly over the console and manipulated the controls with ease.

"There's someone out there," Brummel said from the far wall, so adamant and yet so soft that it seemed almost as if he knew already who it was and had a stake in whatever would happen to them.

Obi-Wan looked to the Captain for confirmation and after a couple seconds, he received a curt nod from the knit-browed officer.

"He's right."

Padme turned her head to look at Brummel and jerked it back quickly as he came up beside her unexpectedly. He was full of emotions she couldn't quite differentiate from one another, but she'd have sworn longing and the ardor of love were among them. They'd discussed love at relative length earlier that day -- that same day, the one that felt three decades past now -- and he had confessed his admiration for it, the way it had haunted him all his life, even as he was ignorant to it.

But he'd never been in love, he'd said. The impression he'd left her with was that he regretted that fact, but that it nevertheless was just that, a fact. His behavior now was inexplicable. It was as if he could sense who it was up above and it sent roaring back feelings he'd long since buried. But by his own account, there were no feelings to have ever been buried, and so she watched him with boundless curiousity, watched his raised brows give the appearence of wrinkles he'd not have for several years yet.

"I've got an image," the Captain said, and in the next instant, the holo-projector came back to life with an image of the surrounding stretch of forest above, and therein, a somewhat slight woman clad in clothes that were much too big for her stumbling along as quick as her legs would carry her, clutching in her white-knuckled grip a small, inadequate blaster pistol that would have been archaic even before this war. "A woman."

Obi-Wan leaned in toward the holo-projector.

"Looks like a civilian. I'm going up to get her."

The Captain's hand on his forearm stilled him, though.

"No, we can't risk it. She's running from something. It'll give up the compound's position. Besides, this could be a setup."

Brummel shoved two of the soldiers aside and came up opposite Obi-Wan on the other side of the Captain.

"This is no setup."

The Captain didn't bother with a reply. He didn't acknowledge Brummel at all in fact, but after a moment, his hands returned to the console and he was able to enlarge the woman's image, to go in tighter on her. Padme's gasp startled Obi-Wan and he squinted to get a better look at the woman's face. No... it couldn't be...

Padme came up beside Brummel and watched the hologram with unbelieving eyes. She felt Obi-Wan's stare, then lifted her eyes to meet it.

"Obi-Wan, it's Sabe!"

She felt an immense guilt overcome her now that she hadn't been more deeply affected by Sabe's potential loss earlier. Certainly, Sabe had come to mind when she'd been pondering the day's casualties, but it hadn't torn her up like it should have to face the prospect of her dear and loyal friend's demise. But now, here she was, no more than two-hundred feet from the compound, running as best she could, tripping over her own two feet and the fabric of her clothes, too baggy and loose and long to accomodate her hurry.

Obi-Wan fixed the Captain with a cold, intense, confident stare meant to convey there was no room for argument in this matter.

"I'm going to get her."

Brummel stared at Sabe's blueish, semi-corporeal image and found himself lost inside those terrified eyes, the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen, even as he couldn't tell anyone the color of them or the color of her hair or the hue of her skin. He'd never seen her before in his life, and yet in this moment, he knew that everything anyone in this universe had ever lived or breathed or fought or died for had been mere exposition intended entirely to lead to this instant when he would lay his eyes upon the holographic likeness of this gorgeous creature, whose hour of need was upon her.

The Captain rose from his chair and stood to his full height, which was a good two inches or so taller than Obi-Wan, but the Jedi didn't react at all.

"I'm not going to let you compromise this base, Master Jedi," the man said coolly. "You're not going anywhere."

"Oh, yes, I am."

The Captain took a few steps back and drew his sidearm, gesturing to his men to do the same. All complied, including Goren, the only one to his surprise who seemed at all apprehensive about the order. These men would follow their commanding officer to their grave, a bond which had been made stronger gradually over these past seven years. They'd all been together from the very first day the Military Act created Naboo's standing army -- all except Goren, who had narrowly escaped from Theed and met up with them during a firefight in the forest.

"I can't allow that," the Captain said.

"What are you going to do!" Obi-Wan shouted. "You want to take me down, you want to prove you're the leader, you want to protect your compound! Shoot me!"

The Captain's posture didn't change.

"You're not going up to the surface without a keycard, Jedi, and you're not getting one."

Padme looked desperately between Obi-Wan and Sabe's image above the holo-projector. Sabe was only a hundred feet back now, and the senator could have sworn she saw a stray blaster shot drift past her. Obi-Wan watched Padme, felt her desperation growing with his own. There was no time for this.

"You're going to have kill me right now because I'm not going to just stand here," the Jedi said, taking a few careful steps to his left, toward the corridor leading out of the control room to the rest of the compound, his hand gliding down toward his lightsaber "So shoot me, or hand me your keycard."

The Captain and his men circled around Obi-Wan toward the corridor to block his way. Goren looked at Padme, saw her unabashed fright, her unbridled frustration growing with each barricading step he and his colleagues took.

Obi-Wan drew his lightsaber from his belt and held it down at his side. The Captain's grip on his weapon tightened and he took a reactionary jab step toward him.

"_Don't do it_!"

Padme's head whipped back toward the hologram. Fifty feet.

Obi-Wan's eyes hardened.

Padme watched the hologram. Forty feet. Another stray blaster shot -- this time, she was certain.

Brummel saw it too. His mind had shut down the past minute as it tried to deal with this opulence of new and unexpected and terrifying feelings, but as he watched Sabe run, saw the fear authored by her face, that beautiful face, he realized suddenly that his mind and the Force were ill-equipped to refine these new sentiments into a confection he could make sense of. And so he reached out to that ethereal entity his Order had fought so hard to break all ties with. He reached out to that very same thing that had afforded Obi-Wan his strength on this day.

The boy turned and started toward the corridor in a brisk, resolved walk.

So preoccupied were the soldiers with Obi-Wan that they were entirely unprepared when one turned into an effortless elbow that shattered the bone in his nose and sent him careening back onto the floor, where he remained.

The Captain turned quickly and leveled his gun on Brummel, but the boy was too quick, hammering the man's jaw with a tight-fisted punch that sent his sidearm flying out of sight. As the officer fell back against the near wall, the Jedi reached into his front pocket and extracted his keycard, then took off running down the long corridor.

Two of the other soldiers took off after him, but Goren side-swiped them and tackled them to the ground. The last two standing moved to pursue Brummel as well, but Obi-Wan took them down with two careful blows to their necks that incapacitated them without the threat of long-term damage.

Obi-Wan turned toward the corridor and Padme moved to follow him, but the Captain gathered himself and rose back to his feet, holding one of the other soldier's pistols. It had the desired effect, stilling the couple, but Obi-Wan's words weren't indicative of defeat.

"You're too late."

The Captain growled and spit out blood, then lowered his blaster to his side.

"I know."


	24. Pieces of Moments

A/N: Hello there once more. I'm in old form this week it seems with the quickness of my updates. I don't think that will hold in the near future, but I will do my best to update at least as often as I had been, once every week or two. Sass, you're right, these poor people need a moment to themselves, so I've tried to oblige here. Hope you all enjoy, and thank you much for reading.

* * *

Sabe tripped and fell to the earth with a lacking grace that was unbecoming. The thick, blood-stained brown fabric of her endless skirt was torn in several new places, so egregiously in one particular spot that when she fell, some disentranced rock ripped off a liberal strip of skin along her knee and replaced it with the makings of a fierce, mephitic infection. 

Her grip on her blaster held, and she rolled quickly onto her back, ready to gun down her pursuers as they came to within striking distance. She'd never taken a life before, not even today, and it hit her hard in that moment that it would soon be hers or theirs, that it was over for her or over for them.

She felt bile rising in her throat as two of her attackers came into sight. The handmaiden had no predilection for shooting, something she had found out in short order earlier, but she felt some guiding hand on her own just then, felt it steady the tremor that shook her aim, and when she squeezed the trigger, she couldn't have been more certain that the closest of the clones would drop to the forest floor.

But nothing happened. She squeezed, again and again and again, but nothing happened. With a spastic's naked fear, Sabe drew the weapon toward her eyes and examined it.

Empty. It was empty. No more energy cells left.

Their fire grew more accurate with each step, with each second, and she could feel the heat of those blasts which found the earth around her, but she couldn't muster the strength to resist anymore. The day had gone on too long and the newly crowned evening was proving indistinct, filled with the same horrors as the daylight hours, but somehow worse, terribly worse, as if every sin in the universe resided within her shadow, which persisted in stalking her every step of her unwanted journey.

In the next instant, the night was aglow with brilliant blue energy, which slashed through the air and returned every incoming shot to its respective creator with a brilliant, mesmerizing ease, and every few seconds thereafter, one of the clones would fall, one after another after another, until all twelve of them shared the ground with Sabe, who was only too happy to have their company as they slipped into an eternal rest that she was quite certain would afford them no actual leisure, only the promise of indefinite damnation and a consanguinity with the deeds that had sealed the pledge.

Sabe caught her breath with a blank stare at all the bodies. Her predicament was erased, just like that. She might have thought time was moving in reverse if not for the tangible evidence to the contrary.

That brilliant blue light was gone now, and so too somehow were the sins that had peopled her shadow.

She looked up into the most familiar face the Force could have offered her, every contour committed to memory, every chiseled ridge in in his visage native to her soul, and yet she couldn't put a name to these adored features, only a feeling, one born centuries past but only discovered in this new moment. When she looked in his eyes, Sabe knew it was the same for him, and suddenly this day, this night, which had passed so slowly and with so much torment, became the greatest of her plenary life.

But there was urgency in his gaze, and without a word, she understood, reaching out her hand, which Brummel accepted and then used to haul her up.

"My name is Brummel Carde, and I'm all too happy to know you."

She nodded, and she knew it was providence.

* * *

Sabe accepted the lukewarm coffee with a small smile, which Goren returned before stepping back into the wealth of soldiers, who didn't share his tact, their expressions hard and indifferent, discouraging as the handmaiden shared the path that had led her to them. 

Padme sat beside her, clutching one of her friend's hands in her lap between both her own, turning to Obi-Wan from time to time with a genuine grin, which he returned with as much vigor as he could summon.

Brummel leaned against the wall, far away from the rest of them. But his attention never wavered.

"I managed to make it out with Mr. LeClark," Sabe said, her voice dropping as she said the name. "He was..."

Padme leaned in, crushing her handmaiden's hand inside her own. LeClark was always so kind to her, so loyal, protecting her without patronizing her, remaining forceful and decisive, but without the angst of a callous attitude. He wasn't present now, though, and she knew the boy was lost.

"He was badly burned. We managed to make it a few blocks over to the Gungan Embassy, but he collapsed in the lobby, told me to leave. I told him I wouldn't leave him, that we'd make it out together. He said..."

Her eyes teared up and so did Brummel's and Padme's and Obi-Wan's and Goren's. The Captain frowned.

"He said, 'I should have done more.' He said it over and over again. I told him he did enough. I told him that if he stuck with me, though, that there _would_ be more to do. He told me... he told me no one could love him with a face that was burned like his. I told him he would be loved by someone. I promised it to him as if it was my word to give. And then told me again that no one could love him with a burnt face... and no one could love him because... he had other burns... burns that... he... he said he couldn't make love anymore..."

To hear her speak was to underestimate the emotion and energy the tale was draining from her. Tears fell from her eyes, the kind reserved for sobs, but the tremor in her voice was so understated, it sounded almost like she only had a cold. Her friend knew better. Brummel knew better. She hadn't looked at him this whole time. She wouldn't even look at Padme.

"And then I left him. He was delirious, kept repeating that he should have done more. He was in so much agony. I knew and I know that I should have put him out of his misery, but I couldn't do it. I just took his pistol and I left. I took his only defense and I left him there to die, left him to his pain. I'm sure it took him a while, too. I'm sure he had plenty of time to be scared, to feel guilty, to imagine the horrors of the world he was leaving behind. That poor bastard...

When I left there, I made my way through the city. There were clashes all throughout. It wasn't a war, though, wasn't close enough to even to call it that. The soldiers were mutilated, torn apart and put down in a matter of minutes. And the civilians... the men, and the women, and the children, they were slaughtered. It wasn't a war, it was a holocaust!"

Padme's expression grew so dour that Obi-Wan had to turn his head.

"I found a clothing outlet that had been abandoned. I broke the back window and I climbed inside. The entire place had been ransacked. My clothes were burned and torn and barely covering me, and I knew I needed replacements, but there was so little left unharmed. I managed to find these -- the lot of them three sizes too big for me, but I was practically naked and I chose to retain some dignity.

Later, the sound of the fighting got closer again. The surviving townspeople had put together a stopgap militia, but it... it didn't matter. They were killed too, stamped out like insects underneath a curious bully's boot. I left the store then. It wasn't safe anymore. I made my way out of the city, and I hid in the sewer for hours, smelled the rotten stench of waste and death and pondered my future with both. I thought I might just stay there the rest of my life, wait 'till I starved.

But then I heard them in the sewer, heard their footsteps as they splashed through sewage and blood. At first, I thought it might be better if I didn't run, if I waited for them to kill me. Something picked me up off my feet, though, and sent me running. I think I was most scared that maybe they _wouldn't_ kill me. So I ran and I ran and I ran and I ran.

I just kept running, shot at them wildly over my shoulder. I ran out of the sewer, and then I ran into the forest, and then..."

Her eyes sought out Brummel.

"Then I found you."

* * *

Obi-Wan's hand glided over the data pad, which produced at his beckoning an interior of the shafts leading down to the sub-level that housed the communications array. It had always intrigued him that they'd built it so far underground. He would have thought it would degrade the signal too much for it to be worth their while, but the Naboo people were intellectually resourceful, it seemed. 

He felt a pair of hands roam over his shoulders to his chest, then craned his head to find Padme's chiding smile.

"You're supposed to be resting like the rest of us. You've planned for every eventuality you possibly can. We only have one more hour here, Obi-Wan. Please don't spend it like this."

The Jedi swiveled in his chair and offered her his lap, which she slithered into smoothly. He watched her for several seconds, saying nothing, just roaming over her face with his eyes. It had done her well to get cleaned up here at the compound. Even beneath a film of dirt and grime, she had been beautiful, but now, restored to her usual state of hygiene, she was radiant beyond reproach.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked softly, running her hand through the very short hair above his ear.

Obi-Wan smiled faintly.

"I'm thinking..." he said, pausing and looking away. "I'm thinking there's not enough time in the world for what I have to say to you."

She pressed the back of her hand again his forehead gently. He was still so warm. It was easy to forget the sickness that had dehabilitated him in the days prior. How he found these untapped reserves of energy to press onward, she would never knew, never know at least beyond the fact that it was simply in his nature to put on hold those things which were injurious to him for the sake of all and everyone else.

Padme chose a light reply.

"Well, you've got a second now if you wanna give it a shot?"

Obi-Wan laughed at that and his eyes found hers again. He could curl up and die inside those eyes and never have a single regret. She was so pure of heart, more pure than him, he thought. Padme was the embodiment of all those things the Jedi spent their lives defending, and yet the most important thing she had in great abundance was the one thing he was sworn to deny himself, love.

"Padme, I would utter to you eternity if I had the capacity or the means," he said earnestly. But he lightened his voice, much as she had, for the second part. "I'm just thankful you did not heed my advice about repopulating the galaxy with Brummel."

She smiled at that, let out a brief, slight breath of amusement.

"Don't think he didn't try. It got pretty bad. There's only so many times you can handle someone saving you and propositioning you in the same day."

He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss into her palm.

"I guess I should probably quit while I'm ahead then, shouldn't I?"

She closed her eyes and sighed with contentment as he placed a second kiss there, then a third.

"If you quit now, you won't _have_ a head, Kenobi."

Obi-Wan chuckled at that, turning her hand over and pressing his lips to the back of it now.

Myriad seconds passed, maybe enough to form a minute, and neither spoke. The light mood was slowly drained from the room as the heft of the day's events finally come to bear on them fully. They'd not had but the briefest of chances to converse since they were brought back together -- his breakdown on the transport and their reunion when he'd first awoken here at the compound. That had been with prying eyes, though, and something about the way the Captain and his men watched them had unsettled her, made her act with an unnaturally restraint.

"Obi-Wan," Padme whispered, drawing his forehead up against hers. "There's so many people gone."

He shut his eyes and inhaled her scent, some unorthodox fusion of her natural odor and the standard-issue shampoo she'd used in her shower at the compound.

"I know."

She shuddered.

"What are we going to do?"

"We're going to fight, and we're going to win, and then love will rebuild the world."

His words were as calming as he'd hoped. He felt her nod against him, then felt her body relax.

"Thank you for not fighting me about this plan," she said, stroking his face. "Thank you for respecting me. I can handle myself."

"I know you can, my love. You're stronger than anyone I've ever known. And I know the tempest was unleashed on your doorstep, how painful it is for you to watch the suffering. I promise you that I will strike down the Chancellor and end this war for good."

Padme touched his head with a chaste kiss, then leaned down to whisper in his ear.

"I want you to make love to me, and I want it to last forever."

Obi-Wan pulled his head back and regarded her with an expression of mock-worry.

"I'm a Jedi, not a deity, m'lady."

She laughed, a deep, bellowing, real laugh, then stood and grabbed his hand, leading him down the corridor to some unoccupied quarters that would likely be vacant forever.


	25. The Final Calm

A/N: Another update here. Appreciate still the reviews I've gotten along the way. For anyone in addition that's reading, reviews with your thoughts, positive or negative, are very much appreciated. We're going to get into the thick of the end game in the coming chapters, so stick with me, and I hope you all enjoy. Thanks.

* * *

Brummel paced in the hallway outside the door to the dimly-lit room where he'd awoken a little while earlier. He didn't suppose it was fair to march in and inundate her with heartfelt declarations for which he had no precedent to utter. Even though he could be certain of the wonderful entity that twisted his stomach, he had no idea if it had infiltrated hers, and he knew intellectually that it was foolish to operate on the presumption that she would reciprocate his sentiments. 

There was that other voice, though, the one that soothes down your worries, the one that placates you, the one that keeps strong the bond between man and his optimism, and that voice spoke up, politely at first, and then with a brazen gusto it stole from its memories of Pratt. Whatever Brummel's relationship with his Master had been, however weak it was compared to the padawan bindings of his peers, the boy knew that for once, Pratt's advice if he were here would ring true, or that even if it didn't, he'd act on it anyway.

He slipped quietly inside to find Crinnin, unconscious still in a regenerative slumber, and Sabe, who lay on her back, staring upward at some unparticular spot in the ceiling with the worried, beat-down gaze of someone late in their life, who knew they had more years behind them than ahead. Sabe was so young, though. She couldn't be but four years older than him, but this day had added sixty to that count, it seemed.

Quietly, he slithered into the seat beside her bed. Slowly, she turned her eyes to him.

Brummel tried to smile.

"Hello."

Sabe attempted the same courtesy. The smile never quite materialized on her face, but it was in her eyes and Brummel found it just the same.

"Hi."

The young Jedi tapped his foot anxiously against the floor, leaning back a little in his chair, so as not to look too imposing or earnest. If he were to sully this moment by appearing too eager, he'd never forgive himself.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," she said, looking down a moment. Brummel waited patiently for her to find the truth. "I've seen people dying today. I never saw that before. They were here, and then they were gone. They had thoughts in their head, and then they vanished. They spent so much time living, took trillions and trillions of breaths, and then in one bloody moment, someone made their living moot."

Sabe looked up at him, saw the darkness in his eyes and wondered what she'd said that was wrong. His kind, gentle optics were cloudy with something like fear, but she knew that wasn't what it was. It was something more elusive, something more undefinable, some hybrid quality that no one's eyes had ever known before, something birthed especially for or out of Brummel's very specific pain.

He looked away, grasping desperately for something to focus on. The door would do for now. This wasn't the time to fall apart, not when she needed him, not when they all needed him. His calm leadership buttressed Obi-Wan's, made his friend's resolve just a little bit stronger and his burden just a little bit less. He wouldn't fall apart now, especially in front of the woman he needed to love him.

"You can speak to me," she said softly. "I know that you've seen things too, probably worse."

Brummel felt the pull of her gaze, and he was helpless to do anything but meet it with his own and lose himself in the accommodating abyss of her eyes, finding the tenderness and propitiation that he needed there in proportions so liberal that he knew he could return there for the rest of time and never exhaust her kindness. The day was catching up with him, the things done to him and by him fattening now in this moment of acknowledgment.

"It has been less than pleasant, this day," he said quietly. "But... I am, am a Jedi... I had... no attachment to the day's occurrences."

Sabe regarded him patiently, sympathetically. She would draw the boy out.

"You were bonded to all Jedi. They were your brothers."

Brummel shut his eyes as a tear threatened escape. This couldn't happen, not under any circumstances, but certainly not here. He would not do this to her, or to himself, or the rest of them. They needed his focus now, his strength. In less than an hour, they would infiltrate Theed, and the end game would be begin. He couldn't deal with all of this now, couldn't open the box on the cusp of their last stand.

Sabe reached a tentative hand out and touched his knee. It was a fleeting gesture, and a lot of people might not have felt it, but for him, it was a spiritual awakening. He couldn't deny her anything, not even his pain. She gripped his chin, so faintly it was a miracle she lifted his head and a miracle his eyes opened.

"Brummel, let me fix you."

He looked away again, but she knew that this time she'd won, and he knew now for sure that his love was reciprocated. The Jedi had no chance anymore. He had to tell her everything.

"When we got this assignment, I was excited," he began, his voice hoarse. "We'd just spent the last six months mediating disputes on Pentma. It was amazing how dull they were for people who were so angry at one another."

She smiled at that.

"We spent the last few months at the Temple. I studied, meditated, did my best to sharpen my skills and refine them. It's strange, though. It always felt like my Master was stunting my growth, like he was doing his best to filter my progress before it got to me. I don't think he was actively malicious, the man loves me..." He paused, shutting his eyes. "_Loved _me, I mean..."

He gathered himself before continuing.

"When my Master woke me that morning, told me we were going to Naboo with Master Obi-Wan and Anakin, I was ecstatic. It was nice to finally have an assignment, one of considerable worth at that. And I'd always admired Obi-Wan. He was a hero for me when I was a teenager. I was thirteen when he killed the Sith. He wasn't any older than I am now, and he'd defeated the face of evil.

I'd always had a mild dislike for Anakin, for the whispers that he was the chosen one. This boy just came from nowhere and accepted us to worship him. He was always so brash, so cocky..."

Brummel took a steady breath, looking contemplative.

"Now he's gone. I wish I'd never thought that."

Sabe nodded, content to let him to sort through these thoughts in his own way, with his own agenda. Others might have tried to reel him in, but she knew it was better this way, better to let him come to it on his own.

"I was nearly the source of Padme's demise in instances too numerous to count, and the cost of her protection was my soul," he said, his eyes going out of focus as he stared over her shoulder. "I'd killed a man before, last year on Tattooine. He was a straggler, was trying to a steal a woman's groceries in an alley. When she wouldn't give it to him, he pulled a knife and stabbed her. I sprang over and split him in half at the waist."

When he didn't continue, Sabe leaned in a bit and put her hand back on his knee, her touch much more solid this time.

"Did she live?" the slight handmaiden asked. "The woman."

Brummel took another steady breath and let it out over the span of some lingering seconds.

"Yes, she did," he said, blinking something away. "And I'd always taken solace in that fact. Then today came, and protecting the one my dear friend loved was my task. Surviving the day with the both of us intact, that became my entire existence. I told myself when it all took shape this morning that any lives I stole today would be in the name of righteousness. I thought maybe if I told myself that, then I wouldn't feel the weight of the pain I inflicted..."

His tears escaped him now. His hands shook.

"But all it left me with was the awful truth... men were on this world and breathing, and I sent them away."

Sabe could feel the despair oozing from his pores, could almost see it rise up out of his eyes like steam from a kettle, and she knew what she had to do. She took his hands in hers as if she might quell their tremors, and when she couldn't, she released one and used her free hand to turn his head toward her.

Slowly, his eyes came back into focus and he saw the tears in her own.

"You are a good man, who has done of himself far more than anyone could ever have asked. Your soul is spotted only with wounds of self-infliction. You are kind and courageous, and I love you."

Something changed in his eyes then, and as Crinnin opened his own and found in himself a small smile, Brummel lowered his lips to Sabe's and sealed their pact with eternity.

* * *

Goren holstered his sidearm and set about filling the compartments on his thick vest with spare energy cells. It was perhaps their only saving grace, how well-stocked the compound was with weaponry and technology and anything else they might need to win the day. But how silly it was, still, to suppose the day could be won or to suppose that there even _remained_ a day to be won. If they emerged victorious, what kind of victory would it be to continue living in whatever world was left? 

He silenced his inner monologue with a sharp, grunted breath and grabbed one of a dozen automatic-firing blasters from off the wall, surprised at the weight. Perhaps he was more weary than he'd thought.

"So uncivilized."

Goren turned to find Obi-Wan in the doorway to the armory, a playful expression on the Jedi's face.

"Pardon?"

Obi-Wan walked over to him, asking with a nod to hold the soldier's weapon. Goren relinquished it with a slight frown of confusion.

"These are so bulky and loud and inaccurate. It's a wonder anyone wins a war with this."

Goren's confusion melted away and his face took on a quality not much different from the Jedi's.

"Well, without offense, Master Jedi, these seem to have done quite a number on _you_ today. They can't be that inaccurate, now can they?"

Obi-Wan grinned and handed it back to him, throwing up his hands in surrender.

"I concede to you, sir. You have slain me with logic."

Goren smiled and set the weapon down on the small console jutting out from the wall, then circled around Obi-Wan to the perpendicular wall, where he opened up another locker to reveal a collection of grenades, some round, which the Jedi surmised were intended to fragment, and some square, which he recognized instantly from earlier that day. With that reminder came one of the man he'd called a friend for a brief time.

"Lieutenant, did you know a man named Irab Coloshi?"

Goren froze mid-reach, then grasped one of the grenades after a pause, holding it loosely.

"Yes, I did. He was in my unit."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then clipped the grenade onto his belt.

"Irab was a good soldier, and I was happy to know him as a man."

Obi-Wan nodded and smiled gently.

"I have no doubt he'd say the same of you."

Goren turned back to the locker and took out two more grenades, fastening one more to his belt and putting another, one of the smaller square ones, in the last unused compartment on his vest. Coloshi and he had always gotten on quite well, and he'd trusted the man with his life. His only wish was that the man were here to trust again. But that wasn't possible, and none of his other wishes were any more accessible.

He was surprised when Obi-Wan spoke again.

"Goren, do you have children?"

That wasn't a question the soldier had been prepared for. He could handle light-hearted banter and grim, heated arguments, and he could handle the sound of weapons fire and the feeling of exploding pain, and while everyone else grew more terse and uncompromising with each failed military excursion, he would remain calm and kind and loyal, but he wasn't prepared to speak about his dear children and he was scarcely apt to do so.

Goren faced the Jedi again and Obi-Wan knew the answer.

"If I live to see the dawn, I think I'd like to be a father," the Jedi said quietly, turning his eyes to the floor. "I think I'd be good at that."

Goren shut the locker, then leaned against it, gathering his thoughts. Obi-Wan afforded him the time, doing his best to gather his own musings into some articulate confection. It wasn't an easy task, and yet the truth was so plain that he knew it should have been. After a few seconds, the soldier looked upon his companion again.

"They're my blessing, my pride," he said. "It's their love that keeps my soul alive."

Obi-Wan smiled sadly.

"I bet you're a wonderful father."

"I was," Goren said, blinking something away. "I was before their mother took them."

Obi-Wan perked up at that, unconsciously taking a few steps toward him.

"They're alive, aren't they?"

"On Coruscant. I lost custody of them a year ago, after the fire."

"What fire?"

Goren choked on the words and pushed himself back up off the locker, turning away from Obi-Wan and taking a few steps, contenting himself with an examination of the wall. This wasn't the time. He knew the Jedi wouldn't intrude on his thoughts, but somehow Obi-Wan knew anyway.

"There is no time but now," the soldier's companion said. "The price of words is too high if you wait for your final breath."

Tears began to spill from Goren's eyes. There was so much pain he could never bleed, so much loss he could never secrete, and while he had sought so vigorously to keep from burdening anyone over the years, the silence had thinned his bones, made him weaker. He knew he and Obi-Wan weren't so different, that their encumbrances were much the same, and something told him that Jedi or civilian, combatant or casualty, this man's soul could be trusted.

"My home... there was a fire..." he said. "And my wife -- my second wife -- she, she didn't survive. So, I tried to care for them, and I didn't do so bad a job, but their mother, she used it... she said I had to work and I was gone too much and that I couldn't care for them. The courts agreed with her, every bloody last one of them, until I got to the highest one... and after that, there was no one else for me to call on, and they took my children from me."

Obi-Wan didn't say anything. There was nothing he could. But Goren wasn't expecting that there was.

After a while, he crossed the room and laid a hand on the Jedi's shoulder.

"I think you'll be good at it."

Obi-Wan smiled with affection and covered Goren's hand with his own.

* * *

Padme groaned as she slipped her arms through the vest. 

"This thing weighs more than _me_, Pen."

Crinnin smirked as he fastened the small clasps together in the front. He'd only just begun to converse with Padme the past twenty minutes or so, but found they got on quite well. It was a wonder her sense of humor had survived this ordeal, even if it was a coping mechanism. His had worn thin on a few occasions, and he had trained for years to endure these hardships. She was a politician thrust into the chaos.

"Well, maybe if you'd start eating more, that wouldn't be the case, Senator."

A few steps away, Sabe began to laugh as Brummel fastened her own vest.

Padme glared at her, then snorted as Crinnin locked the last clasp.

"You're one to talk about missed meals!" she snapped without malice before turning back to Crinnin. "You'd think a senator of the Republic could buy some manners for her staff."

Brummel nodded, mockingly grim.

"Good help is so hard to find these days."

He received a stern slap on his shoulder from Sabe, then rubbed it as if he'd been seriously wounded.

"Case in point," he deadpanned.

"Making trouble again, love?"

The quartet turned toward the voice, finding Obi-Wan in the doorway with Goren, the both of them managing small smiles. Padme crossed her arms in defiance, forcing Crinnin to pry them apart as he loaded her vest with spare energy cells.

"I'll have you know, _Master Kenobi_, that I have just been the victim of a vast and pernicious conspiracy to undermine my character."

Obi-Wan stepped into the room slowly.

"That sounds downright evil, Senator. What do you plan to do?"

Padme crossed her arms again as Crinnin slipped a final energy cell into one of her vest's compartments.

"Wouldn't you like to know, Jedi."

Obi-Wan chuckled as he kept on toward her. Even in moments of playful chiding, that rebellious gumption of hers surfaced. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen anyone that stubborn or refractory, not even Anakin, who had been such a headache-inducing handful these past seven years. She was so full of life, even as it was slowly being stolen from her.

When he reached her, he tucked back behind her ear a strand of her that had escaped her ponytail, then let his hand linger on the back of her head. She sighed. Even her jesting anger fell prey to his touch. But something occurred to her as she looked at him.

He was woefully unprepared. While she, Sabe, Crinnin, and Brummel were armed much the same as Goren and the rest of the military contingent, minus the cumbersome automatic blasters, Obi-Wan was bare of vest and sidearm, with only the fresh pants and shirt he'd gotten at the compound adorning him, his lone weapon the lightsaber clipped to his belt.

Obi-Wan seemed to sense her train of thought.

"My dear, I need not but my wits and my lightsaber. They've proven to be a rather dynamic pair, have they not?"

Padme chewed her lip and shook her head in affectionate disapproval.

Goren called out tentatively from the door, hating to break up what might well be one of the last tender moments any in this room would ever share, but knowing it was time all the same.

"Obi-Wan."

This seemed to shake the Jedi from his reverie. He nodded his acknowledgment to Goren, who inclined his head and then disappeared back out into the corridor.

Obi-Wan turned back to Padme.

"Time to go, darling."

She nodded weakly, her head made heavy now by the imminence of their departure. They'd all found mirth here at the compound for a short time, but now they headed back out into the storm, into the most perilous situation yet in a day full of them. There was so much to say, and yet nothing to say at all. The future was thick with possibilities, but most of them were best left unspoken.

Padme reached up and stroked Obi-Wan's face, and shut her eyes when he did the same.

"Join them, love," he said, reaching down for a brief, close-lipped kiss. "I'll be there shortly."

She nodded, stroking his cheek one last time before slowly walking out into the corridor and out of sight.

Obi-Wan turned his attention to Brummel, and the boy knew what his friend was asking of him.

The young Jedi cupped Sabe's face in his hands, leaning in and resting his forehead against hers. They'd had so little time together to explore their new euphoria. Out of all this darkness, something decent and sacred had emerged. The two had seen so much, weathered so many trials, and had finally been rewarded with something wonderful, only for the threat of losing it to be dangled over their heads mere hours after they discovered it.

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you. I love you. A thousand times, I love you."

Sabe's hand crept up his neck, then guided his lips to hers. She pressed her mouth softly against his. The kiss was tentative, just as all their other ones had been. Brummel was self-conscious. He'd never done it before today. Sabe gave no indication he was doing anything wrong, though, and that fact (courtesy perhaps) eased his worry.

"I'll see you in a second," she whispered against his lips. "I love you."

They stayed like that a few more moments before the handmaiden reluctantly pulled away and, with a slight smile to Obi-Wan and Crinnin, walked out, leaving the three Jedi alone.

Brummel frowned as he turned his eyes from the door to Crinnin, who tried absently to rotate his arm around the joint with meager success. It was a quick, cold reminder of where they'd been and where they were going. There was still so much left to lose.

Obi-Wan's face held no sign of mischief when his companions offered him their attention. There was no sign of anything light in his heart. His demeanor was grim, his eyes hard. It was obvious he'd had to work himself up to this, and that knowledge did little to settle their stomachs.

"I need the three of us to agree to something, and I need us all to be very clear on it," the elder-most Jedi said, the intense undercurrent of his voice chilling the padawans' spines. "Whatever happens in there, no matter the circumstance, the mission takes precedence over everything else... over every_one_ else... including us..."

Obi-Wan locked Brummel in his gaze.

"Including Sabe..." he said rigidly, taking a difficult breath. "And including Padme."

Brummel and Crinnin looked at one another helplessly, then turned their eyes back to Obi-Wan and acquiesced with two small nods.

"Above all else, whatever may happen there, failure or success, one of us must live to confront the Chancellor."

Again, they nodded, downcast. It hadn't been his intention to make them both look so dejected, to force into their hearts and minds more misgivings than they already bore. He reached out a hand to each man, grasping the nape of Brummel's neck and Crinnin's uninjured shoulder.

"There are no two men who I would put in your stead," he said with a sort of brotherly encouragement, turning his eyes to Crinnin specifically. "Not Master Yoda, not Master Lunar, not Master Windu. No one but you, Pen, and Brummel, my dear brother, not a single man except yourself."

His last words seemed to sooth the harshness of his first. They visibly relaxed and he felt them reach out to the Force to sooth away whatever apprehension had subsisted. He'd meant what he said. He would walk with them unshielded into the deepest core of any star and into the unyielding vacuum of space, and out of his body entirely on into the great beyond.

Obi-Wan turned and left, the younger two Jedi hanging back a few moments when he was gone.

Crinnin pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I have a bad feeling about this."


	26. City of Ruins

A/N: It's been a good long while since I've updated this one, but I was struck with the desire to revisit it. I guess I tend to lose interest when it seems like no one's reading it, but this story is just so much fun to write that I couldn't help returning to it. I hope it finds a new audience or reconnects with a previous one. Please enjoy, and leave me some feedback -- the good, the bad, suggestions, whatever. As the Bruce Springsteen song goes: "is there anybody alive out there?"

* * *

It was dark, the sun having long since fallen, and for stretches, they were traveling through the pitch-black, so much of Theed destroyed that buildings and street lights that had once provided illumination were mangled and decimated, so that they now provided nothing at all. Winding through the city streets, it was difficult not to attack clones on sight, but rather to restrain themselves and strategically avoid them. It was doubly difficult to avoid as best they could the terrified civilian survivors, huddled beneath and inside dumpsters, inside the rubble and ruin of once impressive buildings, now nothing more than markers for the galaxy's collective loss. 

Padme felt sick to her stomach passing cowering children by, but each time she looked inclined to go to them, she'd feel the Captain's or Goren's firm, frustrating grip on her arm. Though she didn't let them fall, tears pricked at her eyes as the stragglers' hope rose, then fell as she passed them by.

Over and over in her mind, she promised them that she would end this nightmare, then return to escort them out into the light of what was left of their ravished world. Padme had to believe that, or their gambit was a failure before it began. She would be strong. Just behind her, Sabe's thoughts weren't much different.

Several blocks over, careful not to take the same path as the Captain's team, Obi-Wan cautiously led Brummel, Crinnin, and the five Naboo soldiers through the ruins, doing his best to stay alongside the buildings that were still standing or partially standing, obscuring them from the patrolling clone soldiers. The men felt their eyes water, their lungs constrict as smoke rose from the rubble like the arms of the Force into a putrid sky of soot and clay. This place had been so, so beautiful once.

They were only a quarter mile from the Theed Communications Center, the target of their desperate siege. The soldiers felt their palms dampen with sweat and were constantly adjusting their grips on their weapons, but still they kept their breathing even and their senses sharp, determination and adrenaline surging through their veins. Crinnin was filled with that same determination, remaining in constant contact with the Force, using the connection to calm any frazzled nerves he might develop and remain alert to any potential dangers around him. Obi-Wan and Brummel remained bound to the Force as well, but unlike their fellow Jedi, they drew a good deal of their strength and calm from their love, a reservoir of serenity and hope at least as deep as that of the universal constant they were trained to manipulate.

As they rounded a corner, the Communications Center only two blocks away, Obi-Wan held up his hand sharply, and his team came to a halt behind him. He spun back around that same corner, out of sight of the ten troops he'd spotted in the alley surrounding an old, frail couple.

"I count ten," Obi-Wan whispered. "Detaining two civilians."

Crinnin frowned. "Back-track?"

The elder Jedi shook his head.

"No, we don't have time. It would leave Goren's team too vulnerable."

It wasn't lost on the Naboo soldiers that he'd referred to it as Goren's team, not the Captain's. Certainly, that irked them, but they said nothing, committed to the Jedi's command.

"What do you suggest then?" Brummel asked. "If we engage this group, we could blow our cover and leave Goren just as vulnerable."

Obi-Wan nodded calmly, but didn't respond immediately, eyes scanning the area for any kind of advantage. Just over one of the Naboo fighters' shoulders, he spotted a half-demolished fire escape, what was left of it dangling some fifteen feet above them, leading all the way up to the rooftop. Brummel followed his eyes, and it took only a moment to realize what his friend was planning. He didn't need to say anything; his sharp nod was confirmation enough to Obi-Wan that they were on the same page. Crinnin almost smiled at the sight, this unspoken language they'd cultivated in mere days together.

"Master Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan smiled thinly at one of the soldiers, then at Crinnin.

"Stay here. This will only take a moment."

Before any of them could inquire further, Obi-Wan crouched down, then leapt from the ground as if off a potent spring, landing on the half-preserved fire escape, which swung precariously beneath his weight. He easily steadied himself, though, and from there jumped another twenty feet to the roof. Brummel quickly followed behind him.

The Jedi unclipped their lightsabers in stereo, taking long, but soft steps across the rooftop, peering over the edge at the clones below, close enough to hear them harassing the old couple now. They both looked terrified, though the man did his best to keep his wife behind him.

When they were right above the Chancellor's minions, Obi-Wan gave Brummel a quick nod of confirmation, and then the pair dove gracefully from the rooftop, igniting their lightsabers in mid-air, slowing their descent with last-second flips. Before they even landed, Obi-Wan decapitated two of the clones with one sweeping swing, and Brummel stabbed one through the heart, then jerked his lightsaber upward, severing the right side of the clone's chest from his left.

The remaining seven clones, caught totally off-balance, scrambled to defend themselves, but it was a futile effort. Obi-Wan and Brummel cut through the lot of them with the ease of a knife through bread, and though the dying men let out strangled exclamations, none of them managed to get off a single shot. They lay motionless and torn apart at the Jedi's feet, like a human jigsaw puzzle.

Obi-Wan switched off his lightsaber and clipped it on his belt, turning to the old couple, who stood trembling, shocked, nearly hyperventilating. The compassionate warrior's words were a little harsher than he'd have liked, but he'd not the time to tend to these unsettled locals.

"Find an empty building and a place to hide. Go!"

The couple nodded uncertainly, then walked off as quickly as their aged bones would allow, disappearing through an open door.

Crinnin and the infantrymen peaked around the corner of the building and, satisfied the matter had been resolved, proceeded swiftly down the alleyway to meet Obi-Wan and Brummel, who were taking a moment to survey the carnage on the street.

Brummel touched the side of his face, and his hand came away wet with blood. He smoothed it over his fingers, looking at it with something like wonder.

Crinnin frowned. "Are you all right?"

His friend didn't say anything for a moment, staring at the red substance as if it were a key fitted to unlock the great mysteries of the cosmos. Finally, though, he nodded.

"It's not mine," Brummel said at last, wiping the substance on his pant leg as if it were dirt or food. It might as well have been. With a sigh, he clipped his lightsaber back on his belt. "Let's go."

* * *

Goren sat, back pressed against the exterior building wall, fiddling with the small keyboard on the side of a demolition charge. Truth be told, this wasn't his specialty, but it wasn't the Captain's either. He'd been doing a lot of things outside his comfort zone today. When he was satisfied he'd set the charge correctly, he slapped it onto the thick steel building wall, and rose quickly to his feet, hurrying away from the explosive, dropping back down to the ground about fifteen feet away beside Padme, Sabe, and the Captain. 

It had the desired effect, blasting a human-sized hole in the wall in a quick burst of orange flames, metal fragments scattering through the air, but falling short of the would-be saboteurs, who kept their heads down for a few seconds, until satisfied the danger had passed.

The Captain lifted his head, then pulled Sabe and Padme to their feet with him as he stood. Goren pushed himself up off the ground beside them, tilting his head, almost disappointed.

"I thought the hole would be bigger."

With a sardonic grunt, the Captain led the way forward.

"It'll do."

The Captain climbed through the opening, then Sabe, and then Goren. Padme lingered a moment outside, struck by a sense she couldn't pin down, but which told her she was marching into her final moments. It seemed ludicrous that the fate of the galaxy in a small, yet significant way depended on her transformation from diplomat to warrior. But all the real soldiers were dead, it seemed.

So it goes.


	27. The One Who Took My Boy

A/N: Thanks to the kind soul who left that generous review. For those of you who take the time to read, I'd really appreciate it if you'd leave a little piece of feedback. It's always nice to know something's being read -- complaints, praise, and questions are all quite welcome. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

It would be relatively easy to infiltrate the Communications Center on the tenth floor, as it had been undergoing renovations in the months before this war began. Previously, it had stored the mainframes for the building's various computer networks, but those were moved to another level, and in their stead there were to be a series of offices for high-level government employees. They were all half-finished now – walls missing or partially-painted, discarded mainframes still standing, loose wires winding aimlessly.

There was a window with a view inside, but it was too small to accommodate a grown man, so Obi-Wan plunged his lightsaber into the steel wall around it, slowly cutting out a more accommodating space. The steel and glass fell to the balcony with a clatter.

The Jedi glanced at his companions.

"I expect we'll meet no resistance on this floor, but we'll take no chances. Spread out and secure the area, quickly and quietly. Then we proceed up the elevator shaft to level twelve. Are we clear?"

The soldiers nodded neutrally, totally in their element. Crinnin and Brummel weren't in theirs, but they were clearly resolved to fulfill their duties to the bitter end.

Obi-Wan looked each man in the eye one at a time. When he was sure their commitment was true, he stepped through the generous opening he'd made and dropped down to the torn-up floor of the unfinished level. One by one, the rest of the men dropped down behind him. The soldiers immediately lifted their guns in an offensive posture. In contrast, the Jedi's lightsabers remained clipped on their belts.

With small, cautious steps, the soldiers began to spread out, guns at the ready. Weaving through the half-finished offices, shoving aside dangling cables hanging from the ceiling, they took nothing for granted, eyes busy and hands steady. The Jedi followed behind them in a half-crouch, ears open for any noise at all besides the dull hum of the leftover mainframes.

Despite his training and his commitment to the task before him, Obi-Wan couldn't help wondering about Padme and how her team was faring. Their task would require greater stealth and precision, and his beloved was a diplomat, not to mention a pacifist, so devoted to kindness and considerate bluntness that her involvement in a mission of violent espionage seemed a cruel joke. The same was true of Sabe. These were gentle creatures inclined toward mercy, and yet they accounted for half the personnel of one of two teams from a decimated Republic mounting a desperate last siege.

Brummel's thoughts weren't much different. For what seemed the billionth time that day, he thought about all the death and blood and suffering he'd seen, why he was alive when others weren't, and how unfair it was that untrained civilians – Padme and Sabe especially – had been forced to bear witness and participate in all of this madness. War is a senseless, knave beast, born from the depths of a bottomless agony, with but the single goal of exterminating unfinished lives. Perhaps the only comfort the Jedi could take was that this war was fought by the righteous against a great galactic evil, the greatest ever known: Chancellor Palpantine. But still, to the dead it makes no difference who is wrong and who is right.

Crinnin was himself haunted by the kills he'd made, by the innocent deaths he'd witnessed, and by the expiration of his Master, a warm, generous man of about fifty years. He'd trained the young padawan well, but he wasn't primarily a warrior, but an engineer. If Crinnin was honest, he'd often envied Brummel, for Master Saduj was well known for the exciting missions he'd undertaken, diplomatic excursions that from time to time ended in armed conflict. But Rucient, while noble and always prepared, wasn't born to wage war. He was competent in battle, but it was a miracle he'd survived as long as he had, a man so in love with peace and accord. Crinnin wondered if he'd spent too much of his life wishing Rucient had been more like him, and not enough wishing _he_ had been more like Rucient.

As he glanced over at Obi-Wan, it struck Crinnin how young he looked. Ever since he'd completed the trials – and up until this day – the elder man had worn a beard, and his reputation had come at least to match his Master, Qui-Gon's, a man who had passed away in his mid-fifties. Obi-Wan was not yet thirty. It had been easy to forget that earlier today when watching the man in action. It had also been easy to forget how sick he was. Only now did he notice the tiny beads of sweat on his face or his slightly sluggish movements. It was amazing the way Obi-Wan suppressed the illness when in the heat of battle, but Crinnin couldn't help but wonder if that luck might soon run out.

Just as they'd expected, this floor was clear of the Chancellor's men, who had little reason to waste personnel on a level with nothing of value to protect. At the end of the last office was the elevator shaft, the only way to or off of the 10th floor, but summoning the lift wasn't exactly an option if they wanted to preserve the element of surprise. They'd have to climb.

The five soldiers clipped their blasters to their vests, stepping aside as Obi-Wan and Brummel stepped in front of the elevator doors, each bracing their hands on one side, readying to pry them apart.

Obi-Wan caught the eye of his young friend.

"On my mark," he said, taking a long, calming breath, summoning through the Force the extraordinary strength the task would require. "Mark."

With dueling grunts, the Jedi began to pull with all that was within them and, ludicrous as it appeared to the soldiers who knew not the true depths of these men's abilities, the doors began to separate rather easily, until they'd retracted entirely, granting clear access to the elevator shaft. Brummel leaned into the opening, and glanced up into the empty space above. All he saw were cables and metal.

"It appears we're in luck."

Crinnin turned to Obi-Wan. "Shouldn't we check in with Goren?"

"I'm afraid we can't," the older man said. "They're twenty floors underground. Our comm-links can't penetrate that deep."

Brummel craned his head back. "It's all clear. We should move."

Obi-Wan nodded, reaching down and unlatching a grappling hook from his belt, slowly uncoiling the thick rope attached to it. His companions all moved to follow suit. Crinnin was struck by how heavy his felt, and how hard it was to unwind, but after a few moments, he realized that the injury to his shoulder several hours earlier had been much worse than he'd originally realized. The epiphany troubled him.

The soldiers and younger Jedi stepped back, offering Obi-Wan a wide berth as he stepped up to the edge of the opening and looked up, swinging his hook in a series of quick, small circles, gathering momentum to toss it the distance needed. But as he wound back to finally throw it, a vivid, bleak, frightening image slammed through his eyes into his skull and stopped him dead in his tracks. He paused, his back to his group.

Brummel shared a look with his confused cohorts. "Obi-Wan?"

"He's here."

"Who?"

Obi-Wan's jaw tightened. "The one who killed my boy."

Brummel's heart darkened. He'd seen the pain in Obi-Wan's eyes when he learned of Anakin's demise. He could feel the Master's anger now; it radiated from him in horrific pulses that Brummel could feel in his own chest. And it frightened him to know that a Jedi as placid and noble as Obi-Wan was capable of feeling hatred for another – even the one who took his boy from him.

"Obi-Wan – "

The padawan was cut off by his friend.

"He may know we're here. I need to intercept him before he finds Padme."

Brummel knew better than to argue. He'd seen this look before. But he couldn't fight off the nagging fear spreading through his stomach.

"You can't go alone. You'll need my help."

Obi-Wan shook his head, just as the junior Jedi knew he would.

"This matter's for me alone, good friend."

The padawan looked away, suppressing a shudder, and then he nodded grimly. "May the Force be with you."

"I'll see you soon," Obi-Wan said. It probably wasn't true, though.

* * *

Padme took tiny, quiet steps in a crouch behind the Captain, her blaster looking very much out of place in her small, soft hands, which – even after twenty-five years of living – were scarcely marked at all. They were the hands of a missionary, of a political healer, but they were called to another cause now, and she would do what she had to do.

The Captain had led them aptly through the sub-levels' ventilation ducts until they arrived at SL 20. Thus far, they'd been able to evade the scattered soldiers and technicians of the Chancellor. It had seemed too easy, in fact.

Certainly the massive machinery and circuitry and pipes and generators made it easier to obscure themselves, but still, it rang false that they'd yet to encounter resistance. The primary control console for the communications array was no more than two hundred feet away now.

When the Captain found a line of sight, he stopped and held up an open hand to his team, who came to a halt behind him. Goren stepped around Padme and Sabe, squatting down beside the Captain.

"I count seven," the soldier said. "But four of them look like technicians." He let out a breath. "Something's not right. Presence outside was minimal, and it's nearly empty in here."

Sabe stiffened. "A setup?"

Goren nodded grimly, turning to the Captain.

"We've walked into a trap, sir."

The Captain grunted, his agreement apparent. Padme watched the sure, proud man, saw in his eyes just how grave their predicament was. Palpatine had known his enemy's last remnants would recover data from one of his fallen clones, and he'd known an attack on the communications array would be their most prudent tactical maneuver. Padme felt her heart constrict as she considered what might await the Jedi in the floors high, high above her.

"We have to warn Obi-Wan," she said. "They could be walking into a slaughter."

"Our comm-links won't work this far down," the Captain replied tonelessly. "And we've quite enough problems of our own."

Padme didn't contest the point. He was right, of course.

"Then what are our options?"

Goren shared a glance with his superior, and though no words were spoken, it was a look rich with the exchange of information. Clearly they'd agreed on something. The kind warrior looked on Sabe and Padme.

"We've no gambit available but the one that brought us here. We proceed as planned."

"And walk right into their trap?" Sabe scoffed. "I think not."

Goren regarded her intently. "Madam, they obviously know we're here. We've no subterfuge at our disposal. We've but our wits and will." He opened a pouch on his vest and gestured to a block of densely packed explosive. "And should we teeter at failure's precipice... this is our end game."

Padme's eyes widened. "That's enough to destroy the entire building."

Goren shook his head. "If I can get to the console, I can trigger the emergency failsafe and raise shields around the ground level. That way only the communications infrastructure and the sub-levels would be destroyed. Obi-Wan would still have a fighting chance." He rubbed his eyes. "Make no mistake, though – this device has no timer. Someone will have to remain behind to ensure detonation."

Padme looked away. It was amazing how calm Goren was describing the apocalyptic scenario. It didn't have to happen that way, though, she told herself. It didn't.

"Don't talk like that. If you disable the array from the console, we won't need to destroy anything. You said it could take them days to get communications up and running again."

Goren eyed her patiently. "Ma'am, tripping the building's shield failsafe would take a matter of moments, but to disable communications will take at least two minutes. It is my intention to do so, but we all must be prepared to sacrifice if our time proves too short."

For such a slight-framed, beautiful woman, Padme's gaze was unnaturally intense.

"If you require two minutes, then you shall have them."

Goren smiled. It was a lovely thing to say.

* * *

Obi-Wan hung down from a steel bar on the wall of the elevator shaft, dangling in front of an opening to the seventh floor. Swinging his legs back to gather some momentum, the Jedi flipped gracefully to the floor, landing steadily on both feet. Taking stock of his surroundings, he saw he was on a catwalk, with ladders along the wall leading ten feet up to a series of bulky power distribution nodes, which jutted out like square stomachs from portly men. Looking ahead toward the end of the catwalk, he could make out in relative darkness a pair of doors leading into a control room.

Obi-Wan shut his eyes and bound his senses to the Force. The dark pulse he felt in his brain confirmed his suspicions. The Sith was here.

The Jedi began walking forward slowly, but loudly. He'd be methodical in his movements, but he had no desire to surprise the man. He intended to look into the eyes of the one who'd taken his son, the one responsible for these lesions on his heart.

With each step, he could feel the darkness grow and spread, slip in-between pieces of his splintering essence. It was a presence far beyond that of Darth Maul, that evil _thing_ that had killed his dear mentor. This was a sickness second only to the Chancellor himself.

As Obi-Wan crossed the length of the catwalk, the doors at the end of it slid apart, like an invitation into the dimly-lit control room. His boots on the metal sounded like thunder to his own ears...

Boom... boom... boom...

The Jedi walked through the open doors into the control room. In the middle of it resided a large circular work station, with seven seats matched up to seven computers, and a large holographic projector at the center.

On the side of the table opposite Obi-Wan stood Darth Ovid, red eyes sunk back into a black face, which was mostly obscured by the hood of his cloak. He was a demon, thrust out of the caverns of the Force to swallow the lives of men, and he seemed to be up to the task.

"Master Kenobi," he spat. "I've long been waiting for this moment."

Obi-Wan stared into those bottomless, despicable eyes, unflinching.

"Are you the one who killed my boy?"

Ovid smiled, his dirty, jagged teeth showing in the dark. It was all the answer the Jedi required.

Obi-Wan unclipped his lightsaber and held it at his side, trying unsuccessfully to extinguish his anger with the cool, clear calm of the Force. Ovid's smile lingered, slowly slipping into a scowl.

"I can feel your hatred. It burns in your heart," the Sith said. "Do you feel the darkness? It has its claws in you."

Obi-Wan ignited his lightsaber, breathing steadily as a bead of sweat fell from his face and burned up on the bright blue blade of the ancient weapon.

"I will never fall to the Dark Side. Not so long as I draw breath."

Ovid's own lightsaber slipped smoothly down his sleeve into his waiting hand. He began to circle the work station, and Obi-Wan followed suit.

"Your boy would have. His mind was weak, malleable."

Obi-Wan shut his eyes, summoning Padme's love and the love he felt for Anakin. Slowly he could feel his fury smothered by the purity of these bonds, and by his devotion to the Light Side of the Force.

Ovid switched on his lightsaber, his dark face even harsher in the weapon's red glow.

"I offer one final chance, Jedi. Join us... or perish."

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes.

"I will do what I must."

Ovid let out a horrific, echoing growl as he leapt over the work station, his lightsaber striking Obi-Wan's with a shrill crackle.

Their dance had begun.


	28. Confrontations

A/N: Thanks to my lovely reviewers. I'm glad you're following my little tale, and I appreciate the feedback. To anyone who may be lurking or new to this story, leave me some feedback -- complaints, hatred, compliments, love... whatever! Anyway, hope you enjoy this installment.

* * *

Brummel pressed his back against the wall of the elevator shaft, balancing on his heels on a small metal crossbar. To his left and right were two pairs of Naboo soldiers, and across from him, Crinnin and the fifth soldier. The doors to the twelfth level were sealed, just as they'd expected they would be. They were fairly confident also that behind those doors they would encounter significant resistance, and though brave men all, they weren't anxious to confront the danger. 

Still, swallowing their anxiety, Crinnin and Brummel hopped from their perches to a small ledge just in front of the doors, both men wobbling for a moment, but using one another to steady themselves. Each man bracing their hands on one door, they glanced back at the soldiers, who took the cue and raised their guns in an offensive posture.

"On my mark," Brummel said, echoing the words of his friend and mentor minutes prior. It struck Crinnin just how much authority his once-passive companion spoke with now. "Mark."

The young Jedi began to pry the doors apart with guttural grunts. Just as before, these parted with relative ease, revealing the twelfth floor lobby, from which four corridors led off in different directions.

Of immediate consequence, though, was the lobby's security desk, manned now by two clones, who jumped to attention at the Jedi's intrusion. One of them made an immediate move for his comm-link, but in a flash, both clones fell as the Naboo soldiers unleashed a small burst of pinpoint blaster shots. There was almost something beautiful about how fast the troopers dropped.

Brummel mustered a half-smile as he climbed out of the shaft to the twelfth level floor.

"Nice shot," he said, offering his hand to Crinnin and the soldiers, helping them up. "Which way?"

One of the soldiers gestured toward the corridor on the far left.

"The prisoners are being held in the auditorium."

Before Brummel could offer an acknowledgment, four more clones – no doubt responding to the sound of gunfire in moments prior – appeared from the far right corridor, weapons trained on the Jedi and his team.

"Hey! Stop right there!"

The Naboo soldiers expressed their intentions instantly, letting loose a torrent of blaster shots, which took down two of the clones and sent the other two searching for cover. They never found it, though, as Brummel sprung up off the floor across the lobby, unhooking and igniting his lightsaber in mid-air, slashing both troopers across the chest before he landed, tucking into a roll as the lifeless bodies fell on either side of him.

The Jedi trotted back across the lobby, lightsaber still glowing, as if nothing had happened at all. He proceeded past his teammates, slowing to a purposeful walk as he moved into the left corridor. It reminded Crinnin of the way Windu had moved earlier that day. Switching on his own lightsaber, he followed after his friend, the Naboo soldiers in tow.

* * *

Goren scurried around a cylindrical heating tank not but fifteen feet from the control console, just out of the sight of the Chancellor's men. The rest of the team hung back a bit, waiting on his signal. It didn't look like the technicians had weapons, which left only three clones who were armed. They would be easy to overpower. 

With a glance back at the Captain, Goren reached into a pouch near the bottom of his vest, pulling out a flashbang. It was one of the more sophisticated devices at his disposal, a stun grenade, which through photo-flashes and high frequency noises obscured and confused the senses of those in direct proximity.

When the Captain nodded his assent, the Lieutenant pulled the pin on the flashbang, then curled his arm around the heat tank and tossed it toward the clones. Padme watched as it bounced with a clank off the ground before slowly beginning to roll toward the technicians and troopers, who started at the sound of metal on metal. But before they were able to ascertain the source, the flashbang went off in a small, but brilliant explosion of light and sound.

The Chancellor's men stood stunned and reeling, too disoriented to react when Goren and the Captain popped out from behind their cover and fired a series of crisp, decisive shots into the men's torsos, dropping all seven of them, their bodies tangling as they fell, the technicians half-piled on each other.

Wasting no time, they jogged over to the control console, the Captain casually pushing the clones' prone bodies out of Goren's way with his boot, allowing the soldier to slide into the space they'd occupied. Padme and Sabe joined them in short order and, along with the Captain, turned and looked outward – their backs to Goren – doing their best to cover all of the angles while he worked.

"Make it quick, Lieutenant," the Captain grumbled. "I'd prefer I not die underground."

Padme almost smiled. She was fairly certain that was an attempt at levity, and the Captain had been morose and glowering since the moment she'd met him. The senator threw a look over her shoulder, trying to gauge Goren's initial reaction to the computer, and she wasn't encouraged by the worried crease in his forehead.

On the far side of the vast, capacious room, a short staircase led up to a small balcony, which itself fed back into another room. The group waited, eyes fixed on the darkness of that other room, while Goren worked at the console. Sabe's slender hands trembled as they gripped her blaster, which shook slightly at the motion. However courageous and resolved she might have been, fear wasn't something that could be wished away; all she could do was accept it and face it, and whatever would be would be.

It wasn't but a few seconds later that they could begin to hear rumblings from the darkness opposite them, and they knew what was to come. Out of the connecting room, clones began to pour out onto the balcony, letting out the first volley of fire in what would soon become a volatile exchange. The Captain and Padme and Sabe immediately shot back in kind, feeling utterly vulnerable in the open as they were, actively dodging incoming blasts.

The Captain risked a split-second glance at Goren. "Lieutenant, report!"

Goren was working furiously at the console, watching the holo-screen to chart his progress, but at every turn, he was rebuked by the computer.

"We have a big problem here," he shouted over the weapons exchange. "Every primary communications command has been locked!'

Padme quickly ducked to avoid a shot that would have claimed her head, but she didn't miss a beat.

"Locked? What does that mean!"

Goren grunted as a shot grazed his shoulder before striking the wall.

"It means we can't disable the array!"

Padme shook her head, not accepting the conclusion. "If you need more time – "

"It can't be done, ma'am!" the Lieutenant shouted definitively.

The first wave of soldiers proceeded down the staircase now, still rapidly exchanging fire, while the second wave filtered out of the room onto the balcony. There were at least thirty of them already. Padme refused to accept that this would be their end, but she couldn't think of a way it wouldn't be. They just kept coming and coming, like a village mob descending on the town outcast.

"We'll have to blow it manually," the Captain growled over the roar. "Can you still trip the shield failsafe?"

Sabe spoke before Goren could respond. "How are we supposed to get out if the shield goes up!"

"The vent where we came in connects all the way up to the ground level," Goren shouted, examining a holographic representation of the building's blueprints. "It won't be effected."

It became increasingly difficult for them to hear one another as the troopers moved forward, their shots coming closer to their marks, the cacophony of blaster fire growing painful to the team's ears. Goren's hands moved furiously over the console controls, and he was pleased to find he had access to the building's emergency protocols. The clones hadn't anticipated their secondary plan.

"I've almost got it," he yelled. "Just another few – "

An incoming blast struck the Captain in the head, ripping back his scalp and scattering generous pieces of skin and muscle and bone as he fell back against the console clumsily, dead even before he slipped down to the floor. Padme glanced at his body in horror, then at Goren, who continued his work unfazed, just as he was trained to.

The senator flashed him a desperate look. "Lieutenant!"

"Got it!" Goren replied, spinning and lifting his weapon in a smooth, calm motion, firing on the incoming clones, no more than forty feet from them now. "Take cover!"

He pushed Sabe and Padme ahead of him, ushering them toward the tanks and generators that had obscured them earlier, laying down cover fire for them. Goren barely felt it when the first shot tore through his left bicep; he just kept firing. When the second shot struck his quadricep, he nearly fell, and the blaster slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor. He shut his eyes, gritting his teeth against the pain, expecting a third shot to strike him down. Padme Amidala was a stubborn woman, though, and before he knew it, he was limping out of the clones' immediate line of fire, the senator supporting half of his weight.

It didn't really matter, though, Goren thought to himself as he and Padme slipped to the floor in a heap beside Sabe, just behind the heating tank. He was still going to die, half-crushed already 'neath the brutal wheel of time.

* * *

Obi-Wan peddled backward, lightsaber raised in a defensive posture as he blocked the powerful, overhand blows of the Sith, who brought his red blade down again and again like a tireless hammer. Ovid's style was less arrogant than Darth Maul's, more efficient and aggressive, and the Jedi wondered where his opening would come. Already, he could feel himself weakened with illness, but the strength he found in the Force sent life surging through his veins like adrenaline. 

Ovid continued his onslaught as Obi-Wan moved back across the catwalk. Sensing he'd not be able to outright overpower the Jedi as he'd sought to, the Sith began to vary his attacks, striking from underneath and from the side. Obi-Wan easily blocked his every attempt, but a glance over his shoulder revealed to the brave warrior just how close they were getting to the elevator shaft.

When Ovid came at him with a lunge, Obi-Wan saw his opportunity, spinning to avoid the contact before shoving the Sith forward with a boot into his hip, then flipping up into the air – legs over back – to a safe distance, while Ovid struck the wall face-first. The dark lord growled in frustration, quickly pivoting back to look at the man who'd just outmaneuvered him.

"Your anger blinds you," the Jedi said.

Ovid stepped away from the wall, eyes ablaze.

"No. It feeds my every movement, makes me stronger."

Obi-Wan began to walk toward him, lightsaber pointed down at the catwalk. He looked every bit as calm as he would in a restful sleep.

"You cannot be fed by that which has consumed you," he said. "The Dark Side is a cancer, not a cure."

Ovid snarled, moving forward to meet the Jedi, the whites of his eyes turning black and the blood-red irises seeming to undulate.

"I will show you the Dark Side's true depths."

The Sith held his lightsaber in both hands and raised it above his head, angling it back just a bit. Obi-Wan followed suit, and the men stared into each other's optics during a pregnant moment that made clear the resolve of each.

Ovid made the first move, but Obi-Wan was prepared, their weapons crashing together, but neither man gaining any leverage. This time, though, it was the Jedi who followed up quicker, forcing Ovid's lightsaber into a low-line, then bringing his own back up to strike at Ovid's head.

Predictably, the Sith recovered, but it was he who was on the defensive now. Obi-Wan pieced together a classic Jedi attack, mixing a scattering of sweeping blows into a series of cautious, quick swipes. Ovid was prepared for each one, though, and when Obi-Wan brought his weapon down in an overhand attack, the Sith planted his feet and – his lightsaber firmly pressed against the Jedi's – he used his leverage to push Obi-Wan off of him, then go back on the attack himself.

Their swords continued to clash in a mishmash of traditional and unusual blows, neither man appearing in the slightest to be fatigued, their parries smooth and effortless, as if their entire lives had been spent rehearsing this exchange. But though both men's power was beyond dispute, Ovid's seemed to be building as the fight progressed, while Obi-Wan's was steady but stagnant, for while hatred and anger are an ocean with no bottom, peace and righteousness do not exist in degrees.

As Ovid spun into a crouch to deliver a sweeping blow to Obi-Wan's legs, the wily Master jumped to avoid it and caught the Sith with a glancing shoulder hit on the way down. With a pained howl, the dark lord rolled out of harm's way and back to his feet, and before Obi-Wan could react, Ovid – eyes flashing with disdain – stretched out his off-hand toward the Jedi, and from the tips of his fingers emerged bolts of highly-focused blue lightning, which struck his surprised adversary right in the center of his chest, sending him soaring back off of the catwalk and into the control room.

Obi-Wan smashed into the work station in the middle of the room, his lightsaber thrown from his hand to the far wall, where it deactivated and fell to the floor with a distant-sounding clank. The Jedi lay there in a daze, pain shooting up his back and into his neck, head pounding as if the Sith's electric current were coursing through his neural pathways. When he tried to sit up, he hissed and thought better of it for the moment.

Ovid began slowly up the catwalk toward the control room. He'd refused to underestimate Obi-Wan early in their battle, but walked now with a swagger and conceit reminiscent of Darth Maul. The Sith had asserted control in this duel, and he reveled in that fact.

"How is it you came to be so highly regarded?" Ovid quipped pridefully. "To hear Master Yoda's tale, you're a legend in your own time."

Obi-Wan didn't respond, grunting as he struggled to sit up again, half-sprawled over the projector of the work station.

"It is a pity, truly, that your Order is no more. I'd have found joy in their disappointed eyes when they learned that the great Sith slayer, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, was put down like a youngling apprentice."

The Jedi turned onto his side, putting all of his weight onto his right elbow, pushing off until he was up on one knee. He glanced back to find Ovid standing in the doorway, wearing a familiar scowl, red blade pointed down at his side. He truly was an offspring of evil. Obi-Wan had spent his entire life searching for and finding the good in every living soul, but there was none to be found in this one. He was as cold as grim death.

Obi-Wan spun on his knee to face Ovid.

"You'll find I don't stay down for long," he said. "Not today, at least."

The Jedi rolled off of the work station, calling his lightsaber to his hand and catching it in mid-rotation. Even before his feet touched the ground, he began a winding attack, catching Ovid off-guard, the Sith barely able to deflect the blow. It was the dark lord's turn to back-peddle now, as he began to circle the table on his heels, blocking Obi-Wan's assault in full, but failing to offer any counter-strikes.

When Obi-Wan missed a broad slash, though, striking one of the computers and producing a burst of yellow sparks, Ovid planted a boot firmly in the Jedi's chest, sending him through the air back over the work station. Obi-Wan had anticipated the move and landed on both feet, but an instant later the Sith brazenly tossed his lightsaber at him as if it were a boomerang, and the surprised nobleman barely ducked certain death. The red blade struck the wall behind him harmlessly before retracing its path and landing back in the hand of its owner.

Ovid smiled again in the dark. In Obi-Wan's moment of surprise, his mental wall had been momentarily penetrable, and it seemed the Sith had discovered something. The Master blanched.

"Your feelings are strong for her," Ovid said, his smile widening. "I promise you, her death will take days. She will feel historic suffering." He watched Obi-Wan's body quake. "And just like your boy... it will be your fault."


	29. End Game

A/N: Thanks to those new to this story who've caught up. I very much appreciate the reviews. Let me tell you, this long chapter was an absolute bear to pen, and I'm not sure I managed to get it right. But, judge for yourself; I do hope you enjoy it. Leave me some feedback, whether you do or you don't. Thanks!

One thing to keep in mind: these scenes overlap chronlogically... scene 2 starts before the end of scene 1, etc.

* * *

Goren laid his head back against the heating tank, top teeth grinding against the bottom ones as his mind processed the immense pain in his two damaged limbs. Part of him felt an irrational anger toward Padme for pulling him out of harm's way, wishing he'd already died. The other part of him, though, the one which always won out, knew he had a job to finish. He felt the senator's cool hand on his face. 

"We have to move," she implored breathlessly. "I need you to walk."

Goren nodded after a moment, then struggled to push himself off the ground using his uninjured arm and leg. He made it halfway up, then nearly fell, but Sabe and Padme caught him, laboring greatly to support his weight.

A stray blaster shot ricocheted off of the tank before grazing Sabe's vest, which burned and frayed at an edge. This seemed to be an apt motivator, for the determined women began to hurry their steps, the soldier doing his best to keep in time with them, though his wounded leg dragged at times.

Goren wondered distantly if the Captain had children. They were probably teenagers if he did. Were they now fatherless, or had he just rejoined them in the great beyond? The lieutenant thought they might be better off dead. What life would there be to live after the Chancellor won this war? A chill ran down his spine as he thought of his own children – a son and a daughter – living in the capital of Palpatine's new empire, trapped right in the belly of the beast.

He prayed suddenly to any omniscient who'd listen that Obi-Wan Kenobi was everything he appeared to be. While the Captain had found dubious the Jedi's claim that he could end this war by slaying the Chancellor, Goren – for reasons beyond his own understanding – believed Obi-Wan, and he vowed to give the warrior a fighting chance by destroying the array, thus inducing chaos in Palpatine's forces.

Padme led Goren and Sabe through a maze of machinery and obstructions. The clones had begun to filter into the labyrinth as well, but were more reserved with their shots now, conscious of the various generators and coolant vats in their paths, which were either operationally crucial or prone to explosion.

"Just keep moving," the senator whispered, her voice soothing but frazzled. "Just a little bit further."

She wasn't quite being honest. The vent was still a hundred yards off. Goren's feet were dragging more and more, though, and she needed him to remain engaged.

A shot passed right in front of Padme, nearly taking off her nose, and she turned in dismay to find a clone standing beside a near generator with a clear line of sight. Neither she, nor Sabe reacted quickly enough, and the clone fired again, this shot catching Goren square in the chest. The soldier gasped, shocked, slipping out of the women's grasp and down toward the floor, where he shook, grunting and wheezing.

Padme's hands fumbled for her blaster, clipped to the front of her vest. When she finally grasped it, she fired off a volley of wild shots in the clone's general direction. None struck him, but one blast hit the pipe just above him, which burst and began spraying the trooper with coolant. Instinctively throwing up an arm to block the gas spraying down on him, he gave Padme another moment to gather herself, and this time, her shot was dead-on, piercing the clone's helmet and dropping him.

She looked down to find Sabe kneeling beside Goren, who trembled now in utter agony, his sharp features contorted.

"Oh no," Sabe whispered, not sure what to do with her hands, pressing one briefly against his chest wound, but quickly retracting it when he hissed. She looked up at her dear friend helplessly. "Padme..."

The senator shared her feeling of impotence, but she didn't let it show, acting decisively as she grabbed Goren's injured arm, yanking him up off of the floor none too gently, swallowing the guilt she felt at his pained exclamation. She didn't have time to show him sweetness and compassion. Sabe stood paralyzed for a moment, but snapped out of her reverie when Padme called her name and took hold of the soldier's other arm. When they both had a firm hold, they began walking again. Goren no longer offered assistance, dead weight to be dragged by the slender women, who weren't sure they were up to the task.

It wasn't long before Padme and Sabe began to feel pain in their own arms and backs, the strain of carrying the large man beginning to take its toll. They trudged on, though, the vent in partial view in the distance, their light at the end of the tunnel. In their frenzy, it never occurred to the women what Goren had said earlier – that one of them would need to remain behind to trigger the explosive – but the soldier, half-conscious and struggling for every breath, was spinning that thought around in his mind over and over, coming to terms with it

As the women curved around a small bend, coming out from behind a plasma generator, they came into the view of a pair of clones, and time slowed to a crawl. Padme's instinctive and decisive responses, which had saved them in minutes prior, faltered now in this new instance. She just stared at the troopers blankly, body frozen as she watched them aim their guns. For some unexplainable, morbid reason, Padme found herself trying to fully catalogue the number of times she'd stared down the barrel of a blaster today. She lost count at six.

It was Sabe – flummoxed at nearly every turn on this mission – who acted this time. Without a single lucid thought, as if her mind didn't govern her body, she disentangled herself from Goren, shoving he and Padme back behind the generator and out of the clones' line of fire. She scarcely had a chance to put her hands on her blaster before the troopers unloaded on her. Padme watched in horror from the ground as Sabe was struck twice in the stomach, her body jerking back at the force of the contact, legs wobbling beneath her.

"No! No! Sabe!"

Somehow, even as she was reeling from her grave wounds, Sabe managed to return fire, and though Padme couldn't see the clones, she could hear one of them fall. The other, however, was unscathed and fired again, striking Sabe in both legs, and finally the handmaiden fell. Tears streamed down Padme's face as she saw the pain in her friend's, watched her writhe on the ground.

Sabe rolled her head to the side, her face feeling so, so warm, and she caught the senator's eye.

"Go!" she cried out through her pain. "Go... go..."

Padme could hear footsteps. The other clones had heard the exchange. They were coming. She faced in this moment her life's most torturous decision. If she remained, the three of them would all perish and their mission would be a failure. Logically, her choice was clear, but how could she leave behind her dearest friend, even as she implored her to leave?

Sabe's eyes were full of agony, but of something else as well. Padme could see a plea there, a plea that she not let Sabe die for nothing. She knew what she had to do.

Padme pushed herself up to her knees, looping her arms under Goren's, and then she stood, doing her best to pull him up with her. His weight proved too great, though, and she began to drag him, peddling backward behind a large coolant vat, making sure they were well out of the clones' sight before she began navigating an alternate route toward the vent, grunting with the strength each step sapped from her.

She could hear the clones descend on Sabe, and then she heard a single shot. Strangling back a sob, tears wetting her visage, Padme forced her friend's demise into a dark place to be entered later, pouring every bit of herself into her labor, Goren growing heavier and heavier until she was certain he wasn't a man, but some mythological creature condensed for aesthetics' sake. He was coughing up blood now.

The clones moved on from Sabe, resuming their search for Padme and Goren. The senator and the soldier were but thirty feet from the vent now, but it might as well have been a mile. Goren could hardly breathe, his surroundings blurry and spinning, and he fought every moment against the coming of the great sleep.

Padme slipped and fell, Goren's body limp. She tried to loop her arms back under his, but she was trembling and uncoordinated and she could hear the clones growing nearer. In frustration and desperation, she grabbed hold of the back of his vest and began dragging him, quite certain she was causing him great pain as she heard him gargling blood, but knowing she had no recourse. They were only twenty feet away now.

"Hey, over there!"

The senator glanced up sharply, spying four clones emerging from between two generators. Padme dropped Goren and took hold of her blaster, laying down a wide field of fire directed at no one in particular, but meant for the group in general. Her aim was erratic and well off, but it was to her great fortune, as she struck one of the generators and watched as it exploded in a brilliant burst of flames that swallowed the four clones and set off an explosion in the second generator, a great wall of fire erected.

She took hold of Goren's vest again, trying to drag him the rest of the way. She fell to a knee after a few feet, her arms so tired, but from that knee she pulled him still. The explosion had given them additional moments, but their window of opportunity was very limited nevertheless.

When they were near enough to the vent, Padme let go of his vest and collapsed next to him, trying with some difficulty to catch her breath. She glanced at Goren, blood covering parts of his mouth and chin where he'd spit it up, his eyes glazed with imminent death.

"Lieutenant," she croaked hoarsely. "You have to get up."

Padme wasn't sure he heard her at first, but when some seconds had passed, he shook his head.

"You have to! I can't lift you."

He shook his head again, ever so slightly, and clumsily reached his good arm toward his vest, lazily running his fingers over the various pockets and pouches before his tips finally fell on the block of explosive he'd shown her earlier. Padme paled. In her desperation to escape, she'd forgotten what had to be done. "Someone will have to stay," Goren had said. The proclamation hadn't seemed real when he'd uttered it. Padme had truly believed that all four of them would be walking out of this place together, but here she was all alone with a man about to die.

Goren reached a bloody hand up to grasp Padme's forearm, his body wracked with tremors.

"Give you... long as... can," he rasped, his throat raw and burning.

Padme nodded, eyes wet again as she laid her hand over his, squeezing it tightly.

"Go," he said, pulling his hand back and – after two or three tries – managing to pull the explosive from his pouch. "Go... now..."

She stared into his eyes, barely certain his glassy optics could make her out now, and she felt bile rise in her throat. What had she done to deserve this penchant for cheating death? How could she repay this gift being given her?

Padme touched him on the head, then stood at the opening to the vent, looking back over her shoulder.

"Good luck, Lieutenant."

And then he was alone.

* * *

They'd encountered no less than thirty of the Chancellor's forces since their arrival on the twelfth floor, but had thus far disposed of them without incident, the Jedi doing the brunt of the work. Brummel's movements were smooth and easy, Crinnin's a bit more labored as he felt pain surge through his shoulder with each stroke of his lightsaber. The latter man felt like a liability. 

The Naboo soldiers were happy to defer to the Jedi, hanging back while the two young padawans cleared the path ahead, the clones looking slow and overmatched, maybe even a little drunk as their reflexes faltered in the face of Brummel's and Crinnin's onslaughts.

They were close now. Fifteen feet ahead, the corridor took a wide turn left, the auditorium not much further after that. Brummel was troubled not to have some sense of a mass of people, that distant, drifting feeling a Jedi tends to pluck from the air when human diversity resides nearby. All he could feel now was the bland, prosaic personality of the clone model, repeated over and over in each individual, a tragic waste of flesh and blood and a true perversion of the Force's will.

As they rounded the corner, perhaps not as cautiously as the moment called for, the Jedi and their team were confronted by no fewer than fifteen clones standing on either side of the tall auditorium doors, clearly expecting and waiting for the septet to arrive. Brummel stopped on a dime, rocking back on his heels.

"There they are!"

Those three words, uttered by one of the clones, tripwired an inevitable, hostile exchange, the Chancellor's men opening fire, finding immediate success as two of the Naboo soldiers were struck down in the blink of an eye, the other three scrambling while the Jedi deflected incoming blasts with their lightsabers.

Four of the shots intended for Brummel and Crinnin were sent hurtling back at the clones who'd fired them, knocking them off their feet and out of the fight. It wasn't but a second later, though, that another of the Naboo men was rocked back by a direct hit to his chest, dead before he reached the floor, leaving but two of the soldiers remaining to aid the Jedi.

It was clear to Brummel that his defensive strategy wasn't working, so with his concentration submerged in the Force, he sprung forward toward the swarm of clones. In mid-air, he deflected two more shots, one of which passed through a tender part of a clone's face before striking a second clone behind him. As the Jedi landed, he severed a third clone's arm, then pulled the mangled trooper in front of him, using him to absorb a couple of incoming shots.

The clones' entire focus shifting to the bold padawan, the Naboo soldiers saw their opening, and with a series of short, decisive blasts, took down three of the Chancellor's men. This left only five remaining.

Brummel watched as his fellow padawan came at the clones from the other side. Slicing off the barrels of three of the men's guns, he then hung back a moment as Crinnin decapitated two of them from behind before impaling the third back-to-front. The final two troopers, distracted by Crinnin, were helpless against Brummel, who sliced open both of their chests with one slash.

The Jedi stood in the middle of another in a series of endless bloodbaths, lightsabers still glowing as they checked to make sure each clone had expired. Brummel had never understood in the past why so many veterans were mentally unstable and prone to violent crime, but as he looked down at the carnage owed in great part to him, he knew now what had once eluded him. There was nothing he could do or say to change what he'd done, and if he were to survive this terrible ordeal, he knew he'd be forever changed. The poisoned snake bites you, and you're poisoned too.

When they were satisfied the clones were all dead, the Jedi walked back to join the two Naboo men, who were checking the pulses of their three fallen comrades. Brummel watched grimly as the men shook their heads; they were all dead.

The padawan sighed, nodding his understanding.

"Let's move," he said, the men standing up to follow. When he turned to Crinnin, he saw the Jedi wincing, rolling his shoulder. "Pen?"

Crinnin brushed off his concern. "It'll keep."

With a short nod, accepting his assertion but not believing it, Brummel walked past him toward the auditorium doors, his lightsaber still glowing, a sign that he'd take no chances about what lie within. With a glance back at his three companions, the Jedi pressed the top button on a small keypad, watching as the doors parted before him..

Walking in slowly, lightsaber still drawn as his team came in behind him, Brummel was confounded by what he saw. The spacious auditorium – filled on one side with portable chairs and on the other with tables made to seat ten – was completely empty of person and sound, and there was no sign that anyone had been there at all.

"I don't understand," Crinnin said, forehead creased in confusion. "Where are they?"

Brummel was about to reply when he saw something on the far side of the room, on the long stage where presentations were made and ceremonies held. Just back and to the left of the ornate speaker's podium at the stage's center, a single man sat as if waiting, obscured by a brown cloak.

"We're not alone," the Jedi said, eyes fixed on him.

Switching off his lightsaber and clipping it back on his belt, Brummel began to make his way from the doors to the center of the room, where a small walkway cut between the half of the room with the chairs and the half with the tables, proceeding all the way to the end, where a small staircase led up to the stage. Crinnin hooked his own lightsaber back on his belt, following behind his friend, the Naboo soldiers trailing.

As they walked, Brummel reached out to the Force, hoping to sense the man's identity or motives, but he could sense nothing at all. It was as if the cloaked figure were a ghost. This felt like a trap, but the group could think of no recourse but to discover the man's intentions.

When they drew near to the stage, the cloaked figure began to stir, lifting his head to look at the approaching band of insurgents. Brummel's heart pounded in his chest as new implications occurred to him. If the information indicating that there were friendly captives being held here was part of a ruse, then no doubt the Chancellor would be prepared for the attempts of Goren's team to disable the array as well. They were all in very grave danger.

As Brummel came to a stop in front of the steps, the cloaked figure stood up, coming out of the shadows and into the light toward the stagefront. When the young padawan got his first look at the man's face, he audibly gasped, nearly falling back in his supreme surprise, completely paralyzed as he looked upon the face of his Master, Pratt Saduj.

It couldn't be. He'd have sensed him; the bond between an apprentice and mentor was unbreakable. Brummel had felt quite certain that he, Crinnin, and Obi-Wan were the last of the Jedi Order on Naboo, but here before him stood his teacher, unaccounted for since the war's beginning. He took a pair of shaky breaths, regarding Pratt in disbelief.

"Master," he murmured hoarsely. "You're alive."

Pratt pulled back the hood of his cloak, smiling at his padawan, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"Hello Brummel."

Crinnin stepped out from behind his friend, regarding Pratt with incredulity.

"Where are the other prisoners? We believed there to be three hundred."

"They were executed," the man replied dispassionately.

Brummel, having conquered his momentary paralysis, reclaimed the authority he'd spoken with in minutes prior, his voice urgent as he regarded his Jedi guide.

"Master, we've not much time. They're well aware we're here. Reinforcements will no doubt be arriving imminently, and I'd prefer we don't greet them."

Pratt nodded, but he didn't look moved to action. He paused, as if considering the matter, and if Brummel didn't know better, he'd have sworn he saw amusement on his Master's face. After a few moments, Pratt shrugged his cloak off, smiling as it pooled behind him on the stage, eyes much, much darker than his apprentice remembered, taking on a yellow-orange hue that reminded Crinnin of the Blight he'd seen on Chronos V the year previous. It looked preternatural. Something was very wrong...

"I'm afraid, my young padawan," Pratt uttered, his voice dropping an entire octave as he pulled his lightsaber from his belt, those yellow-orange eyes starting to glow, "that there will be no escape today."

Brummel's eyes widened. As much as he'd questioned the methods of his mentor, he'd never doubted the purity of the man's heart, the sanctity of his intentions, but here and now, he saw something in the Master's optics that he'd never seen before.

"No," he whispered, shaking his head vehemently. "No..."

Pratt ignited his lightsaber, revealing a long, red blade unbecoming of a Jedi. Brummel's fear was confirmed and he could feel his stomach tear in two, could feel his mind splinter in protest to what it was being asked to digest. Betrayal spread through his body like the blood through his veins as he glanced at Crinnin, whose dumbfounded expression said more than words ever could.

When the Naboo soldiers raised their guns in a hostile gesture, Pratt stretched out his off-hand, and with the flick of his wrist, the two infantrymen were lifted from the ground and sent soaring across the length of the room to the far wall, which they struck with sickening thuds before falling unprotected to the hard floor. No one doubted they were dead.

Brummel and Crinnin quickly drew and lit their lightsabers in response, stepping in opposite directions in an effort to flank the powerful traitor. The man smiled arrogantly as he looked between them.

"It doesn't have to happen this way," Pratt said, slowly walking toward the end of the stage. He caught the eye of his apprentice, and he seemed to be sincere. "You have great potential, Brummel. The Chancellor has use for you."

Brummel stared resolutely at his Master, eyes shimmering in the glow of his lightsaber.

"I'll serve no man who serves himself."

Any affection lingering in the Sith's eyes evaporated. He'd tried to guide his apprentice down the dark path with subtle lessons about the need to embrace passion and reject the Jedi Code, but at each and every turn, Brummel had politely refused his Master's enlightenment, staying true to the vapid, dogmatic view of the Force peddled by Windu and Yoda and Kooth. It had been a waste of seven years.

Crinnin fought to bite back the terror he felt. Even with their numbers advantage, he thought he and Brummel were outmatched. Pratt was fifteen years their elder, knew his apprentice's every move, and was a practitioner of the dark arts, which neither padawan had ever confronted.

"I sense great fear in you both, and anger," the Sith spat with a baneful smile, standing on the stage's edge. "I suggest you use it."

Flipping from the stage down to the floor, Pratt began his attack, focusing on Crinnin to open, knowing he was the weak link of the pair. The padawan staggered back, grimacing as he strained his shoulder with each block of the Sith's lightsaber. Pratt noticed the injury immediately and began to exploit it by varying the angles of his strikes, forcing Crinnin to rotate his shoulder as much as possible.

Brummel quickly came to his friend's aid, trying for short, quick jabs, hoping to squeeze one through while Pratt's lightsaber was crashing against Crinnin's. The Sith provided no openings, though, his reflexes quick and sharp, attuned to the Force in a way neither of the padawans could hope to be at the tender age of twenty.

When Brummel committed himself too far forward on an overhand blow, Pratt blindly wound his leg back and kicked his apprentice in the stomach, sending him stumbling back. Then the Sith, his lightsaber pressed hard against Crinnin's, used his superior strength to get a leverage advantage, pushing the padawan back several feet.

Pratt, a venerable strategist, capitalized on his advantage, extending a hand toward Brummel, communing with the Force to throw the young man across the room, where he landed unceremoniously and rolled a few feet further before finally coming to rest, his body limp.

Crinnin hurried at the Sith, hoping to catch him off-guard, but Pratt spun back to face him, easily deflecting the padawan's blow and going right back on the attack. The Jedi began to grunt audibly as he fought, the pain in his shoulder excruciating. He let go of his lightsaber with his left hand, fighting only with his right, his every movement desperately defensive as he backed his way across the pathway into the section of the room with the tables.

Across the room, Brummel began to stir, the distant clash of ancient weapons floating toward his ringing ears, which felt as though they were bleeding, though when he reached his hand up, it came away clean. He could hear Crinnin's labored growls as Pratt descended upon him, and the young Jedi knew he had to rise if he was to save his friend from certain death.

Pratt wound his arm back and came at Crinnin with a sweeping strike. Crinnin blocked it, but his arm was thrown back at the force and he nearly dropped his lightsaber, allowing the Sith to land a brutal straight kick to the Jedi's patella, which buckled beneath him, sending him down to one knee. Crinnin's lightsaber slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground, deactivating and rolling under a nearby table, leaving him completely defenseless as Pratt raised his weapon to deliver the final blow, eyes bright with the color of fire as he looked down at the young padawan.

Brummel bounded across the room with two long leaps, switching on his lightsaber as he landed next to Crinnin, forcing his blade into the path of his mentor's, red striking blue as the vulnerable padawan's life was spared. Surprised by the impediment, Pratt was unable to defend himself when Brummel removed one hand from the handle of his lightsaber and delivered a vicious forearm to his Master's face, knocking him to the floor.

Rather than follow up on the blow, though, Brummel simply stared down at his mentor while Crinnin scrambled for his weapon behind him. The apprentice's eyes were full of something more potent than betrayal as he looked at his treacherous teacher, a man who had for so long seen to every aspect of the young Jedi's life, treating him with the attention and kindness and warmth that an engaged father provides a son. Brummel had never agreed with Pratt, but he'd respected him, and now he discovered that everything he thought he'd known of the man had been variations on a grand, evil lie.

"What have you done?!" the boy shouted furiously, veins showing on his youthful face. "You made a vow to protect the Order, not destroy it! You were to nurture peace in the Republic, not welcome the darkness!"

Pratt's eyes glowed a little dimmer as he listened to his padawan's recriminations, but still he was unmoved by the display, staring into the eyes of his pupil with a small snarl.

"I need not the righteous drivel of a boy blinded by ideology."

The Sith licked the blood off of his bottom lip, slowly standing, his lightsaber still glowing.

"You're so mesmerized by the Jedi's foolish facade that you dismiss the great galactic truth," he said, his voice dangerous and bitter. "Man was not born to serve the will of the Force. He was born to impose his own will _on_ the Force."

Brummel eyed Pratt evenly, unfazed.

"There is no need for one to serve the other. The Jedi and the Force live in symbiotic harmony." His eyes betrayed his hurt. "I think you used to understand that... before your mind was twisted by lust and greed."

Pratt laughed hollowly. "You speak as if Kenobi's surrogate. Has Ben truly warped you so?"

Brummel didn't respond, startled to hear his friend's name introduced into the intimate confrontation. Crinnin stepped out from behind the padawan for the first time, drawing the attention of the Sith.

"How about you, Pen?" the dark lord asked. "Has he seduced you also?"

The ailing boy tried to keep the fear from his voice.

"I am a Jedi, and I'll not be owned by any man."

The Sith's eyes deepened in their shade again. It was clear that he'd grown weary of entertaining the men's contrary view. He truly loved the boy before him, but he could not save someone unwilling to help themselves, and if Brummel was to cling to a tradition the Chancellor had all but purged, then he'd suffer the same as any stranger would.

"I'm afraid, then, that your time has passed."

Pratt attacked again with renewed vigor, Brummel and Crinnin stepping to opposite sides in an attempt to outmaneuver him, but finding the Master's defenses impenetrable. Crinnin grew more fatigued with each block and strike, his injured shoulder no longer his only concern, as pain flared through his good arm, overtaxed now as it accounted for the Jedi's every action. Brummel himself felt twinges in his leg, still damaged from the crash of the transport hours earlier. The Sith was, in contrast, tireless.

When Brummel tried to plant his harmed leg behind him, he winced and briefly faltered, giving his Master an opening, and Pratt profited with a well-placed elbow to the boy's jaw, sending him spinning back a few feet, dazed. Then, turning on Crinnin, the Sith scored a glancing strike to the padawan's neck, inducing a pained hiss.

Brummel recovered from Pratt's elbow, but as he turned back to join the fight, a feeling of sheer terror and anguish and sorrow ruptured his concentration, pulling him out of the place he stood and into an unnavigable cavern, where he was besieged by sights and sounds that cleaved his very essence, images of Sabe struck by multiple blaster shots, her voice full of pain and agony as she fell to the ground, completely petrified as the clones came to stand over her, staring down at the frightened woman before delivering the unconscionable kill shot.

The finality numbed him. His love was dead. He'd only just found her and she was gone, gone, never to return from the netherworld of the Force.

The boy couldn't move, taking ragged, painful breaths as his chest tightened, his lungs seizing shut for stretches as the image of Sabe's broken body lingered. For all his ability to manipulate the universal constant that was the Force, he was helpless to change the fate of the one who mattered most to him, this gift of a woman he'd had but hours to know, the one he knew he was born to love. She was gone...

Crinnin jumped onto one of the tables to avoid a sweeping blow by Pratt, who watched his lightsaber split in two a nearby chair instead of the padawan. But it would prove a brief reprieve, for the Sith recovered immediately, and before Crinnin could react, Pratt's red blade had cut his knee open. The boy fell to his side, dropping his lightsaber, letting out a howl so loud and asperous and miserable that it brought pain to his own ears. He'd never experienced such a wretched feeling in his life.

"Brummel!" the padawan screamed. "Brummel! Brummel!"

His friend was finally pulled out of his anguished, mournful reverie by the desperate cry for help. He rushed toward Pratt, who stood ready to vanquish Crinnin, but before Brummel could reach him, his Master craned his head to look back at him, and with a lazy outstretched hand, he conferred with the Force to lift his apprentice from the floor and toss him toward the stage, where Brummel struck his head and fell back to the ground.

Crinnin watched his friend land violently, one arm twisted awkwardly beneath him – broken maybe – and the vulnerable padawan knew that his luck had run out.

The dark lord turned back to him, glowering. He'd killed several Jedi that day, but somehow he thought this would be the most satisfying of all. As much as Crinnin sought not to divulge his fear, the dignified young warrior couldn't erase the horror shining in his timorous eyes. The Sith never thought to pity him; it was the boy's own fault.

Pratt lanced Crinnin through the heart.

The padawan was within seconds as one with the endless night.

* * *

Padme crawled through the ventilation duct with growing frustration, her forearms bruised and scratched all over, knees banging against the steel as she pushed herself forward, fearing with every inch traveled that the flames were soon to swallow her. She didn't know how long Goren could wait before he'd be forced to set off the explosive charge, and she still had a significant stretch of space to cover. It was a long way up to the ground level. 

She could feel the pressures of the moment like a weight on her back – the biological instinct for self-preservation, her will to make certain Sabe, Goren, and the Captain hadn't died for nothing, and her overwhelming need to find her way back to Obi-Wan – but it only spurred her on, the determined woman's strength and speed well beyond what she should have been capable of.

The senator wondered what her mother might say if she saw her right now. She'd probably tease her, tell her she didn't send Padme to the planet's best schools so that she could dirty herself on some adventure. She wondered – not for the first time that day – if her family was alive, if they'd managed to take refuge before the gruesome business of war had borne down on Naboo. Her relationship had been strained with her sister the past few years, but she resolved that if they both survived this costly quagmire, things would be different. Life was too precious to harbor resentment for family.

Padme wasn't but one floor away now. A few feet ahead of her, the duct stopped, continuing on a few feet above, leading off of Sub Level 1 and onto the ground level. Her instinct was to slow down, to give herself a reprieve now that she was so close, but as she angled her body to climb up into the connecting duct, she could hear a faint crackle pass through the vent. For a moment, she knit her brows, wondering at the source, but then – in a moment of direful epiphany – she realized that it was the sound of an explosion. Goren had set off the charge.

The woman moved in earnest, hauling herself up into the next duct, her movements frantic again as she pushed herself forward on her forearms, which burned now as if already touched by flames, so marked and tender that she was certain they would scar.

Padme could feel the vent quiver now and knew the flames were soon to follow her. It wouldn't take long at all for the sub-levels, full of highly combustible materials, to be swallowed. She was so close to safety, though, so very close. The vent cover was only ten feet ahead of her. But the duct trembled more profoundly each second and the senator could feel the heat of the surging flames.

It wasn't going to the end this way, she decided. It just wasn't. Too many people had died so that she could live, including Goren, indubitably dead now at his hand, and she scurried ahead with hardened eyes, the cover almost within reach.

The fire devoured Sub-Level 1 and Padme could feel the blaze as if it were inches from her face as she took hold of the vent cover with both of her trembling hands, grunting harshly as she fought to force it open.

"Please, please, please!" she pleaded.

The flames blasted through the duct she occupied, but in the same second, the vent cover slammed open. Padme felt the fire nipping at her boots as she flung herself forward out of the duct, ten feet down to the floor.

She landed on her side with a grunt of pain as the fire shot out of the vent across the room for one burning, brilliant second, before receding back into the duct and out of sight, like it had never been there at all.

The walls shook as if there were an earthquake upon her, but though she was certain they'd fall, they stood structurally unchanged, untouched by the explosion. The shield had gone up around the ground level, it seemed, just as Goren had said it would. He'd saved her life.

Padme lay back on the ground, oxygen-deprived, her own fear and fatigue bearing down on her as she nearly hyperventilated. The burn marks on her boots were all the evidence she needed that she'd been milliseconds away from a slow, painful, horrendous demise.

But she hadn't died. She was very much alive. And as much as she wanted to revel in that fact, to give herself time to even out her breathing, she knew that wasn't an option. She looked toward the door of the room – the abandoned office of a junior executive – as she heard a commotion outside. Straining her ears, she could make out a symphony of urgent monotones, and she knew immediately that they were clones. She had to get out of here, but given this new, considerable presence of troopers, she doubted very much that she'd be able to make it back to the makeshift entrance Goren had created to get inside the building.

Panic filled her as she heard some clones conversing just on the other side of the door. She looked around the room frantically in search of a place to hide, but as she glanced toward the back of the office, she saw a second door, which led out into a different corridor. It might be her only chance.

Turning onto her stomach, Padme braced her hands on the ground and pushed herself up to her knees. Then, with considerable effort, she rose to her feet, grimacing as the muscles in her right leg spasmed, a consequence of her long voyage through the ventilation system. Face tense with pain, the senator began to hobble across the room as quickly and quietly as she could.

When she reached the second door, she pressed her ear against it, but there was silence.

She could hear the door across the room open, and though she didn't know what lie on the other side of the one before her, she quickly opened it and stepped through, shutting it quietly behind her just as a pair of clones stepped into the office.

Padme looked both ways down the empty hallway. At one end, it connected to the corridor where the clones were. At the other end was the elevator.

Her options weren't appealing. She supposed she could try to hide in one of the other offices spread out on both sides of this hallway, but it stood to reason that the clones would eventually check those as well. And certainly there was nothing appealing about proceeding to the perpendicular corridor. That left her with one course of action.

Padme limped down the hallway toward the elevator.

She didn't have a clue where she planned to take it.

* * *

Obi-Wan felt one of the computers press painfully into his spine as Ovid's hand closed around his throat and forced him awkwardly down onto the work station, the Jedi's lightsaber – still lit – barely remaining in his grasp. 

Ovid stared into his eyes, savoring the sight of his enemy struggling for breath. When he tightened his grip and pressed down harder, Obi-Wan's lightsaber fell from his hold, switching off as it hit the floor.

Sensing his opening, Ovid moved immediately to strike the Jedi down with his red blade, but Obi-Wan's hand shot up and grabbed the Sith's wrist before he could do the deed. Ovid grunted in frustration, struggling against Obi-Wan's strong grasp. In doing so, though, he made a crucial error – with his attention diverted, the hand around the Jedi's throat loosened, and the savvy Master took advantage.

Prying the gloved fingers from his neck, Obi-Wan had a firm grip on each of Ovid's wrists, and summoning from his bottomless reserves a ludicrous strength, the Jedi flipped his opponent over his head across the table, taking a hungry, ragged breath as he brought a hand to his tender throat.

His reprieve was short, though, for Ovid was back on his feet within moments. Obi-Wan called his lightsaber to his waiting hand, switching it on as he withdrew from the control room, moving back out onto the catwalk. Both men paused where they were briefly as the building lightly trembled, but neither man paid it much mind, completely invested in their confrontation.

The Sith followed his enemy slowly – almost casually – but his features were anything but relaxed.

"You are beginning to try my patience, Kenobi."

Obi-Wan smirked darkly.

"I have that effect on people."

"But surely you realize," Ovid said, moving a little quicker now to close the gap between them, "that you are doomed, and so is your beloved."

Anger flashed in Obi-Wan's eyes, but unlike before, he found it extremely difficult to cast out. The Sith knew he was getting to him.

"She is to be your undoing, Jedi. The love you hold dear... makes you _weak_."

Ovid knew right away that he'd misstepped in his taunting. Obi-Wan's eyes changed, the anger gone in but a single second, replaced with something blameless and righteous and far more powerful than the dark emotion.

"Oh, I don't think so."

The Jedi extended his hand, calling on the Force, and much to his adversary's surprise, Ovid felt himself lifted from the ground and hurled perilously toward one of the bulky power distribution nodes above the catwalk. He struck the object hard, breaking a bone in his cheek, but he had the wherewithal to grasp on to a rung of the ladder leading up to it, hanging down from one arm, lightsaber still lit in his free hand. Obi-Wan had to admit that he was impressed by his foe's recovery.

Ovid braced one foot against the wall, using it as a springboard to flip back down onto the catwalk, where he attacked the Jedi immediately. Obi-Wan parried his blows with ease, content to be on the defensive, waiting patiently for the Sith to make a fatal error.

It would prove to be the Master who erred, though, distracted by the sound of the elevator rushing up the shaft just behind him. Sensing his opening, Ovid used the Force to push Obi-Wan back off of the catwalk and into the open space behind him, where the Jedi slammed against the wall of the shaft and began to fall.

His descent was short-lived, though, as he found himself within moments landing atop the ascending elevator car. In a blur, he saw Ovid execute a dangerous – near fatal – leap, the Sith landing beside the fallen Jedi just in the nick of time. A split second later and he'd have met a grizzly end.

Towering above his rival, Ovid cocked his lightsaber behind his head, then brought it straight down like a hammer. The Jedi blocked it, then evaded a follow-up blow, which struck the top of the elevator car, eliciting a burst of sparks, and allowed Obi-Wan to kip-up to his feet.

From there, both men found it difficult at first to gain an advantage in such a confined space, though Ovid could see the sweat spatter from Obi-Wan's face with his every move, and he hoped the Jedi's sickness was beginning to wear him down.

The Sith's hopes faded when Obi-Wan became the aggressor, dictating the pace of the duel, which grew incrementally more frenetic. It proved challenging for Ovid to match him blow for blow, his concentration lapsing as he grew more and more conscious of how close they were to the ceiling of the elevator shaft, which loomed seven levels above.

Obi-Wan was well aware of the situation also, but unlike the Sith, he was able to retain his focus, and when Ovid glanced up at the ceiling for an instant, the Jedi's blue blade sliced through his arm at the elbow, then trailed down to cut his leg off at the knee.

Ovid growled in torment at the top of his lungs, falling forward onto his stomach at Obi-Wan's feet.

The Master looked up, seeing that he was just three floors from the shaft ceiling, and the elevator showed no signs of stopping before it got there.

Calmly, without fear or apprehension, the Jedi called once more on the guile that had preserved his life so often that day. Shutting his eyes, he focused on the doors to level forty, the building's highest floor. Pouring every ounce of himself into the Force, he commanded them to open.

They did, and just before the elevator reached the ceiling, crushing Ovid's helpless body and killing him instantly, Obi-Wan dove through the open doors to safety, landing brusquely on his tailbone.

The Jedi turned onto his side and laid his head on the ground. It felt so cool, so lovely, like marble smoothed down to paradise. He felt utterly drained, physically and emotionally; it had taken all he had to put down the dark lord who killed his boy.

As Obi-Wan lay there, taking tiny, sharp, weary breaths, he thought about Anakin, about how proud his padawan would have been of him if he were alive to share this. He wasn't, though. No one was. Not Windu, not Kooth, not Lunar, not Qui-Gon. His victory was hollow.

The elevator doors opened, shocking Obi-Wan out of his tired musing. In his fatigue, he'd forgotten.

Reaching for his lightsaber, the exhausted Jedi hauled himself up to his knees, defiantly preparing for another fight. But it wasn't an altercation that awaited him, but a reunion.

Obi-Wan's eyes brightened when he saw a slim woman peek out cautiously from the corner of the elevator car, blaster pointed out.

"Padme," he whispered.

That word just meant so much.

* * *

A/N: Phew! That's a long one. I do hope you managed to enjoy it. I think there's parts that could be considerably better, and I think I may get TOO descriptive or into characters' internal monologues sometimes. I donno. Anyway, kindly leave a review! 


	30. The Serpent's Grasp

A/N: Thanks to the lovely, generous reviewer who just caught up with this admittedly enormous story. I do hope some others who'd been following it have made it back for these recent installments, including this one right here. So, as always, if you're taking the time to even read this, I'd very much appreciate some feedback -- I'm always happy to hear what you like, what you don't, what you love, what you hate, questions, suggestions, etc. So, anyway, thank you much and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Padme's eyes, full of fear and apprehension and sorrow in the instant previous, nearly melted out of their sockets and dripped down her face when she saw Obi-Wan – her heart's true keeper – staring back at her, his own optics dim and tired and relieved, as the Jedi swayed on his knees, lightsaber loose in his grasp. 

The senator wasted not a moment, scampering out of the elevator on her hands and knees, dropping her blaster along the way before she threw her arms around Obi-Wan's neck, trembling as she slipped into his firm embrace, his arms wrapped tightly around her as if he were trying to absorb her body into his own.

"Obi-Wan," she whispered, the words lost against the skin of his throat. "Obi-Wan..."

They stayed like that for some span of seconds, Padme murmuring his name over and over, but the Jedi's hold began to loosen after a time, head hanging low as he let out a shallow breath.

Padme pulled back, taking a discriminating look at him for the first time, holding his face in her hands, lifting it so that his eyes met hers. His face was a bit pale and damp with sweat as it had been that morning and the previous day, but though it startled her to see the sickness resurface, her relief to see him alive at all was overwhelming.

"Are you all right?" she asked, running a hand through his hair. "I heard you struggling with someone on the elevator."

Obi-Wan nodded, abruptly pressing his lips to Padme's, hungrily, desperately, needing something only she could provide, and though she let out a startled exclamation, she soon found herself responding with equal vigor. Without knowing it, each lover gave their pain to the other, this rough, furious kiss a spiritual conduit through which losses and fears came to be shared.

When they pulled back, the Jedi spoke, his voice breathless and urgent.

"We can't stay," he said. "Where's Goren, Sabe?"

Padme squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head, forcing back tears. Something flashed in Obi-Wan's eyes, but it was gone on a moment later.

"The array?"

"Destroyed," the senator said quietly.

Obi-Wan nodded without satisfaction. It was a success infinitely more bitter than sweet. He didn't linger on the thought, though, his training taking over.

Forcing himself off of the floor, legs feeling like they were trapped in molasses, the Jedi wobbled precariously, Padme quickly rising herself to steady him with a hand on both of his triceps. Before she could remark on the instability, though, he spoke with some finality.

"We have to go. It won't be long until they track us up here."

Padme's frown deepened. "What about Brummel and Pen?"

Obi-Wan looked away, seeking a diplomatic reply. When he looked back, his eyes and voice were gentle.

"They are very capable men," he said.

Padme knew what that meant, but much to her own surprise, she made no declaration that she'd not leave without them. For perhaps the first time that day, she embraced a larger view of her world's quandary. It was imperative that Obi-Wan confront the Chancellor, and searching a building completely overrun by clones for their missing friends would put that confrontation in serious jeopardy. They'd all agreed before this mission that the greater good would come before all else; she'd honor that pact.

"How do you plan to get out of here?" she asked, her voice calm and controlled, sounding much the same as it did in the chambers of the senate. "They're all over the ground, and they're no doubt checking the building floor by floor."

Obi-Wan took a step past her, retrieving her fallen blaster from the floor and handing it back to her. He gestured toward the end of the corridor, his light touch on her back pushing her in that direction. They walked briskly, side by side, as the Jedi replied.

"There's stairs to the roof in the next hallway."

Padme raised a sarcastic brow. "The roof? I can see you've thought this through."

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Well, not exactly, but – "

"Would you prefer we try our luck down below?"

"I didn't say that, but – "

"Perhaps we could negotiate with them. They seem like very reasonable men. I'm sure they'd – "

Padme rolled her eyes. "Point taken, Kenobi!"

Obi-Wan couldn't suppress a small grin.

When they reached the end of the hall, he took hold of her arm, leading her toward the door to the stairs. She did have a point. He wasn't certain what he planned to do when they reached the roof, but it was their only viable option. No doubt the building was now crawling with epic numbers of the Chancellor's minions in response to the destruction of the array.

He was quite certain that, with communications knocked out entirely, he'd have an infinitely easier time reaching Palpatine, but first he'd have to find a way out of this lion's den.

Pressing a key on a small control pad, Obi-Wan watched the door lift open and retract up into the ceiling, revealing a short staircase leading up to the roof and out into the black and empty night. He led her up the stairs, but gestured for her to wait while he stepped onto the roof first, glancing about for imminent dangers. Satisfied there were none, he smiled at the senator, who joined him.

The Jedi quickly took stock of their options, walking carefully to the near ledge, startled when he looked down to the ground and saw swarm after swarm of clones surrounding the building. Well, he and Padme would certainly not be scaling down the side.

He took a step back, eyes scanning the surrounding buildings now, looking for one close enough to leap to. His thoughts were transparent.

"I trust you're not pondering what I think you are."

Obi-Wan pointed to the building to the west. It was the only one with a roof nearly even with the Communication Center's.

"I think we could make it over to that one."

Padme regarded him patronizingly. "Obi-Wan, I think you're confusing me with Coruscant's long-jump champion."

"We'll go together," he replied evenly. "You can climb on my back."

The senator might have ventured another sarcastic response if not for the way the shadows framed his face, reminding her that he was still ailing. She'd no doubt the jump would be easy for Obi-Wan to make by himself. She didn't even doubt that, under normal circumstances, the jump with her on his back would be fairly pedestrian. But to be so weary and ill and expect to leap between buildings carrying the weight of two people...

Obi-Wan sensed her reservations, his tone more biting than his words.

"Padme, please. If you were wearing three layers and covered with water, you'd still be half the weight of Master Yoda."

She raised an eyebrow at that, but found it difficult not to smile. Her courting Jedi had a great proclivity toward gallows humor, and given the crushing reality of their losses and present predicament, she was grateful for his every quip. His calm and resolve were almost inhuman.

Padme nodded finally, waiting as Obi-Wan crouched down in invitation. Her limbs were tired, and as she tried to climb onto him, she nearly fell and brought him down with her, but he recovered by pitching forward as Padme grasped him tightly around the neck.

The Jedi coughed. "I misspoke," he remarked dryly. "I should have said _double_."

Padme grunted as she shifted further up his back, wrapping her legs around his waist.

"With sweet talk like that, this will be a very short courtship."

Obi-Wan approached the ledge opposite the western building, sizing up the jump. The roofs were separated by about thirty feet. This would be ambitious to say the least.

The senator let out a troubled breath, not at all liking the looks of things, but though a sarcastic retort rested on her tongue for a time, she swallowed it, supposing her love didn't need any negativity just then. She could feel his body tighten and she knew he was communing with the Force, the muscles in his back rippling beneath her chest. He took a series of short steps backward, gauging the running start he'd need. When he was satisfied, he stopped and sighed, bringing his hand up to rub one of Padme's with his thumb.

"Just close your eyes," he said.

She obliged.

* * *

Pratt stood over the prone body of his apprentice, staring down at the boy's peaceless face, features tight as if still in pain's grip, even when he was unconscious. It was regrettable the way events were unfolding. Brummel had been an excellent protégé, patient and compliant at nearly every turn, accepting with open arms Pratt's tutelage, but having the autonomy to make his own decisions and draw his own conclusions about the nature of the Force. What a waste it was that he'd refused to embrace the portal to greater truth that was the Dark Side. 

The Sith clipped his lightsaber back onto his belt.

Despite the young Jedi's refusal to enter the Chancellor's dark fold, Pratt suspected that Brummel had yet to outlive his use. He could provide useful information – though it would have to be forcibly extracted – or could, at the very least, prove a pleasing trophy for Palpatine.

Pratt looked up when one of his clone commanders, a small group of men in tow, entered the auditorium and began to make his way toward him. He thought in passing about how truly wonderful it was how spineless and pliable these clones were. It would make for an orderly society when this war was over.

The commander approached, taking a sidelong glance at Crinnin's body – still lying on a table, eyes mercifully closed – before coming to stand near Pratt.

"My lord."

With disinterested eyes, the Sith turned to face him.

"What is the situation?"

"The insurgents destroyed the communication's array. We have no radio capabilities, not even interpersonal comm-links."

Pratt scowled. "What of Kenobi?"

"We're searching the entire building, but we've turned up nothing yet."

"Double your search," the Sith demanded. "I want him found!"

The commander nodded dutifully. "At once. What of this Jedi?"

He gestured to Brummel, sprawled out on the floor unconscious but alive, his chest rising and falling steadily. Pratt followed the clone's eyes to his apprentice, regarding the boy thoughtfully.

"Take him to the Convention Center. I want him isolated and kept under heavy guard. No one is to speak to him until I arrive."

The commander bowed his head, gesturing to two of his men to retrieve Brummel from the floor.

"It will be done, my lord."

* * *

Obi-Wan landed on the ledge of the second building, throwing all of his weight forward to make sure he and Padme didn't lurch backward down toward the street below. In doing so, he lost his footing entirely, Padme tossed off of his back to the rooftop as he himself landed hard against the concrete. Each lover could hear the other groan. 

The Jedi pushed himself up to his knees, managing a half-smile.

"Another happy landing," he grumbled, stretching out an aching arm to help Padme up off of her side. "Are you all right?"

With a short nod, she rose to her knees, bringing a hand up to touch her temple, wincing as she felt an impressive scrape.

Obi-Wan found his way to his feet, pulling her up with him. He knew they weren't safe yet. They'd still be visible to anyone who thought to look. Glancing across the rooftop, he spotted a thick cylindrical pipe connecting this building to the one across from it. If they could get to the other roof, they'd have a much easier time staying out of sight.

He turned back to address Padme, but before the words could pop off his tongue, his eyes fell on the cuts and bruises and scrapes on her delicate forearms, the demarcations weaving over her tender flesh like the spiraling strands of a double helix. He knew there would be some scarring there, and though it should have seemed frivolous beyond comment, he found himself disturbed.

Obi-Wan took one of her arms into his hand, cradling it in his palm. Not but eighteen hours previous, the skin had been white and smooth and nearly perfect, but now it was welted and red and desecrated, the victim of some ancient cosmic wrath, which throughout time delighted in marring all things beautiful.

Padme watched him curiously.

"Obi-Wan?"

He didn't flinch.

She tried again, her voice firm. "Obi-Wan."

He lifted his eyes to meet hers, though he held on to her arm.

"We need to cross again," he said at last, ignoring the question implicit in her gaze. His hand trailed down her arm to grasp her small fingers and he gestured to the pipe connecting the two buildings. "This way."

She was amazed by how soft his steps were as he led her across sun-stained concrete. It reminded her of the assassins of Argyle, a creed of mercenary shape-shifters, who moved about the physical world as if they existed half outside it, their every movement quiet as the dead of space, blending into whatever their surroundings might be. She could recall the stories her grandfather had told her about them, myths about lost spirits possessed by the selfish flesh of men. They didn't have much in common with Obi-Wan, though, for while the Jedi exhibited some of their fabled skills, every ounce of his mortal shell was good and decent, right down to the marrow in his bones.

"All right," he said with a tired smile, letting go of her hand as they stood at the building's edge. "You go first."

Padme shook her head with endearing trepidation. "No, no. You go first. I insist."

"I'll be right behind you," the Jedi assured her, circling around her to place a hand on each of her hips. "Just don't look down, darling."

She let out a falsely calm breath. "Right."

Truth be told, Padme had been terrified of heights for as long as she could remember. The fear had lessened with time and necessity, as she'd had to travel through space more times than she could count and had spent a great many days high up in the enormous, open chamber of the Galactic Senate, but still, when she was out of her comfort zone, away from those places where she'd learned to suppress her unease, her phobia's power was considerable.

Obi-Wan could sense the paranoia seizing her mind and body, and he tightened his grip on her waist, concentrating on her being, sending through his hands into her body a feeling of tranquility so profound that Padme nearly faltered in her first step, her legs and concentration relaxing.

The Jedi steadied her, though, and his dear senator began forward sure of foot. She took his advice, keeping her eyes focused ahead of her, but he took a long look down at the street below, pleased to see no clones in sight. They'd all, it seemed, descended on the Communications Center, leaving these other buildings unmonitored.

Padme stepped off of the pipe and up onto the ledge of the new rooftop, sighing in relief when her boots found solid ground again, turning and reaching out a hand to Obi-Wan, a gesture more symbolic than practical as he easily moved from the metal of the time-tested tube to the comforting, stable cement of the roof. She smiled with something not unlike embarrassment.

He kindly let the moment pass without comment, turning his attention instead to the facade at the rooftop's center, an eight foot high rectangular block with a door at the front. It seemed apparent there were stairs leading down within.

Obi-Wan started toward it without a word and Padme followed. She needed to sit down, to rest, and she could tell he felt sluggish as well, his eyes a bit dull.

The Jedi reached for the latch on the door, grunting in exasperation when it didn't open. He almost laughed when he turned back to see Padme clutching at her blaster as if she planned to blow it open. His hand on hers stilled the act.

"Too loud," he explained.

Padme watched him curiously, waiting for him to offer his own solution, but all he did was close his eyes for an instant, then open them with a small grin. She looked confused when he reached for the latch again, but this time the door opened without resistance. The Force, she realized. What a faithful friend it was.

Obi-Wan unclipped his lightsaber, maneuvering in front of her onto the first step of the staircase, looking over his shoulder with a wry smile.

"Stay close, dear."

Padme's eyes were dark and deep and too full of promises to shine.

"Always."

* * *

Brummel's head throbbed and burned as he glided through darkness, his every sense dulled and dangling by half-cut threads from his mangled mind. He couldn't remember where he was or who he was or what he was, his name and soul and time eluding him like they had in the black void of origin before the Force had fully formed his mind and heart. 

And just as he somehow knew he had in a previous existence, he heard a voice whisper gibberish in tones as soft and blue as the waves of an unchallenged ocean, sweet strings of endless singsong syllables marking his very essence. He knew that voice. He knew it.

The darkness slowly receded, but its absence was most unwelcome, for it tore away the soothing ramblings of that precious maidenly voice, leaving him alone to combat the pain in his injured arm and the disorientation in his concussed, chaotic brain.

It was cold, the floor was, and his cheek was pressed flush against it, his ailing arm folded against his chest so that his body was pressing down on it. His first and lingering thought was to roll over, but his body felt heavy and worthless, like a brokendown freighter in a Coruscant junkyard.

He managed with considerable effort to turn to his side, freeing his arm from beneath himself, letting out a relieved breath. For a spell, he simply lay like that, willing the Force to infuse with strength his infirm body and bring clarity to his cluttered mind.

Where was he? What had happened?

Minutes passed without answer, but slowly, ever so slowly, the events that led him there came trickling back to him, like water from a rain-soaked leaf.

Obi-Wan had gone on his own to confront the dark one, while he and Crinnin continued up to free the prisoners. Only there'd been no prisoners at all. Just one man.

Everything came in a rush after that...

His Master, a traitor.

His love, taken.

His friend, murdered.

"No," he growled raspingly. "No..."

He felt anger flood through his stomach, felt the spark of rage and hate lit inside him. All he'd ever done was serve the Jedi, serve the Force, with as much dignity and compassion as he was able, giving of himself all that he could and taking precious little in return. But despite his every noble act, his every sacrifice, the Force had seen fit today to rip from his chest his heart, and blacken it before his very eyes.

His Master, the man he'd called Father in his quiet, private musings, had forsaken all he'd professed to stand for. He'd murdered Jedi, embraced their timeless enemy. But for all the anger and hate and longing for retribution Brummel felt just then, he wished that Pratt would have finished the job and killed him too, because without Sabe – that precious woman who'd whispered to him in the dark before either of them were ever born – he'd take no pleasure in anything for as long as he lived.

Brummel hated the man. He despised him, and he would kill him.

The boy's eyes held a hint of yellow.

* * *

Obi-Wan sat straight, back pressed against an overturned table, Padme lying in his lap. This had once been a place of higher education, a small satellite building for the larger Theed university campus a few miles away. It was ravaged now, plundered by the business of war, and the ransacked classroom where the Jedi now rested was almost unrecognizable, except for an assortment of half-burned history textbooks strewn about like meaningless kindle. 

Padme caught him staring at one.

"I read that once," she said distantly.

Obi-Wan stroked her hair, smiling gently.

"Any good?"

The senator nodded against his thigh.

"Yes," she said. "It made me proud to read what my people had been through."

"And proud you should be. You've a lovely planet and a strong, kind people."

"I wonder, though..."

Obi-Wan moved his left hand down to stroke her jaw with his thumb, the fingers of his right hand continuing through her hair.

"About what?"

"Is there in thirty years time to be a book about today?" she asked, shutting her eyes. "Will some as yet untainted girl feel pride when she reads about the day the Jedi died?"

Obi-Wan thought about lying, but instead he said nothing at all.

It was Padme who spoke again, voice bordering on a whimper, her body trembling in his arms.

"They killed them," she whispered, as much to herself as to him. "I watched all three of them die."

Obi-Wan said nothing, but he wrapped his arms around her tighter, crushing her in his embrace when she desperately sank back against him.

"She died saving me. She died so I could live."

"Because she loved you," he murmured, lips pressed against her head.

Padme's eyes, which had held back the flow of tears, could do so no longer when those kind words reached her ears. She didn't sob, though, didn't cry out in anguish. She just lay there in his arms, mild tremors passing through her, as tears tracked down through the light soot that dirtied her cheeks.

"And Brummel?" she muttered, hands firmly gripping his sturdy arm. "Can you feel him?"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, resting his head against the table. He knit his brows in concentration, but could find in the Force no calcified image. He saw only Brummel and Pratt at arms-length, the image grainy, as if glimpsed through a sand-covered lens. There was nothing more to see, he knew.

"His fate is as fluid as ours."

* * *

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	31. Unnatural

A/N: Thanks very much to amber and seren for the kind, encouraging words. I take great heart in them and they inspire me to continue on. For those who are following the story, but have yet to comment, I'm always happy to hear words of encouragement, suggestions, or words of critique. Thanks very much, and I hope you enjoy this installment.

* * *

Obi-Wan sat, Padme still in his arms, and he tried in vain to find answers in the ether of the Force. He'd presumed Pratt dead sometime earlier that day, for he'd felt the beating hearts of none but he, Brummel, and Crinnin in his meditations at the Naboo military compound. Even now, he couldn't feel Pratt, though his vision minutes prior indeed confirmed that the Master lived. 

Padme's voice drew him out of his thoughts.

"Pen is dead," she blurted out detachedly. "Isn't he?"

Obi-Wan sighed, releasing more than just a breathe.

"Yes, he is."

"Do you know how?"

The Jedi's grip on her fell slack, and though it was only for a moment, Padme felt the shudder that ran through him. She wasn't sure if it was out of anger or grief or something else, but his voice was strange and small when he answered her.

"No. But I know that it was meaningless, and I know that he was frightened... the kind of fear a child feels."

"He had a _right_ to be afraid, Obi-Wan."

"Do you think I don't know that?!" he snapped, his voice dangerously low. "He had no business waging war. He was a boy." His voice softened, besmirched by a quiver. "Only a boy."

Padme's heart broke to hear him that way. She knew that he was blaming himself for the padawan's passing, just as he'd tried to take culpability for Anakin's demise earlier. His capacity for self-recrimination was utterly astounding. If he'd ever sought to know the history of his ancestors, he'd no doubt have felt responsible for thousands of years of their errant acts, supposing he should have somehow stopped them before his own conception.

"He was more than a boy," she said quietly, pressing her lips to his arm. "He was a brave Jedi, a credit to those who taught him."

Obi-Wan didn't say anything, but she felt his arms tighten around her again, squeezing her, and she squeezed back, emboldened to continue.

"No one could ask more of any of you than you've given today. Dear, you've done things far beyond what could be sought of a man."

"I've done my duty, nothing more," he insisted. "And I've failed today more times than I can catalogue."

The Jedi could hear and feel Padme's huff of indignation.

"Obi-Wan, for such a supremely intelligent individual, you manage to be a clueless fool when you turn that intellect inward. You are the kindest, bravest man I've ever known, and the things you've done today are worthy of epic verse. Yet you torture yourself more severely than could ever be done by another."

He didn't respond for a time, and the senator held hope that her words had penetrated his barrier of self-directed enmity and guilt. It was so very strange how he could be possess limitless confidence in the moment, but none in his later reflections. It was humility carried to its most destructive end.

When he finally did respond, it was clear she'd changed nothing at all.

"Thank you for saying that," he offered politely. "I disagree with the sentiment, but you're kind beyond words."

Padme sighed, rubbing his arm with her cheek.

"We'll have to work on getting you to like yourself when all of this is over," she said.

Obi-Wan stroked her hair, his voice distant.

"When it's over."

* * *

Brummel glanced around the room, imbibing the unfamiliar surroundings. It appeared to be a conference room of some sort, though it was more spacious than any he'd ever seen. At the center was a long oval table with a holo-projector at the middle, surrounded by twenty comfortable-looking executive chairs, each with a small computer panel just in front of them. 

Some fifteen feet from the table on all sides were more chairs, perhaps for members of the press on the occasions when they were invited to watch government or business meetings. The walls were vibrant, but elegant, understated patterns of white flowing into brighter tones of green and blue. It reminded him of the Planetary Museum of Art a few blocks from the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.

He was quite certain that the door on the far side of the room would be sealed, but he crossed to check anyway. His sore arm held against his stomach, he reached out with his other to press a key on the control panel next to the exit. Predictably, the door refused his command.

With a frustrated sigh, he sat down in one of the chairs at the table.

It was difficult to figure where he was or why he was there. For what reason had his Master spared his life? Brummel had lost consciousness. It would've been easy for Pratt to kill him, but here he sat very much alive. Did the Sith wish merely to toy with him, to gloat? Would he torture him for information about the Naboo coalition's remaining forces, about Obi-Wan?

Obi-Wan. He prayed his friend was still alive, that he could find his way to Palpatine. Brummel had no ambition himself of confronting the Chancellor, for his entire life now revolved around the revenge he sought to painfully extract from his treasonous mentor. This man – this sick, evil man – would pay for all of the wrongs perpetrated by the Sith this day. He'd pay for the hundreds of thousands who'd likely died, for the deaths of thirteen thousand Jedi, the death of his dear friend Crinnin, and the death of the woman who mattered to him more than his own life. Pratt was an animal, a beast, and Brummel planned to slaughter him like one.

He glanced down at his belt, noting as he had when he'd first woken the absence of his lightsaber and the various trinkets he'd had there. His vest, full of various tactical gear, was gone as well. All he wore were the remnants of his dirty tunic – torn in places – and the dark scowl that owned his young, tired face. It mattered not. He'd kill his teacher with his bare hands if he had to.

The boy let out a long sigh, rising abruptly from his seat, lifting it over his head, and tossing it across the room with a wild, rumbling cry.

He shouldn't be thinking things like this. Anger and hate led to suffering, to the dark side, to the very thing he was furious at. How sickening it was that the dark side was most appealing right after it had stolen everything that mattered to you. But the overwhelming thought running through his mind was that he didn't care. Peace of heart and a clean soul didn't mean a thing to him if Sabe's death went unavenged. She _deserved_retribution. She _deserved _outrage and anger on her behalf.

Brummel began to pace the room, searching himself desperately for something to trump these crushing feelings of darkness. What would Obi-Wan do? What would Windu do? What would Yoda do?

But all his search left him with was the sickening, putrid truth: he didn't care what they would do. All he cared about was what he _planned _to do to his Master.

For now, though – the painfully endless now – he waited.

* * *

Obi-Wan gently pulled Padme up out of his lap. She seemed startled, but didn't resist, moving to sit down beside him with a quizzical expression. It was apparent from the look in his eyes that he was about to say something she wouldn't care for. 

"Padme..."

"What is it?"

"I've rested as long as I can allow for," he said gently. "It's coming time for me to finish things, while I can still aptly exploit the army's disarray. If I wait much longer, more men may well drop back to where the Chancellor is."

Padme willfully missed his point.

"We're going to confront Palpatine?"

Obi-Wan smiled at her stubbornness. She was so beautiful when she was being contrary.

"Not 'we,' darling. This matter's for me alone."

"Obi-Wan, if you think I'm going to leave your sight ever again as long as we both shall live, you're mistaken."

The Jedi couldn't resist reaching out and touching her face. He'd never heard such affection and adoration poured into such argumentative words. He wondered if any human being had ever loved another human being the way he loved her. Her spirit was so pure.

"I understand, Padme. I do. The thought of leaving you again eats at my soul as a vulture raids the dead, but it is the will of the Force that I do this alone."

"Well, it is the will of _me _that you don't," the senator snapped sarcastically.

Obi-Wan smiled patiently, but instead of trying once more to make his point as she'd expected he would, the young Master turned away and looked into some nothingness with an expression she thought looked wistful. He appeared lost in thought for a few moments, but it wasn't long before he spoke again, still looking away from her.

"Padme," he said. "Do you think someday you might like to have a family with me?"

The sheer surprise of the question overwhelmed her. She smiled in confusion.

"What? Of – of course I do. Weren't you listening to me prattle earlier about how wonderful you are?"

Obi-Wan smiled again, turning back to her with eyes so sad and earnest, she almost cried again.

"I yearn to spend the rest of my life with you," he said, voice pained and soft and imploring. "I'd like to have a few years for just you and I to spend together. You could go work in the Senate, and I at the Jedi Temple. At night, we'd come home and take turns making dinner. When you had a bad day, I could draw you a bath, maybe rub your shoulders, listen as you told me about how frustrated you were with Senator Parsons.

The nights we had the energy, we could make love, and the nights we didn't, we could just lie there holding each other... for minutes maybe, or for hours when we had the chance. We could fall asleep like that every single night. On weekends, we could go to the museum or the theater or see a fiction hologram. We could hold hands in public places. I could kiss you 'neath the fireworks when we were celebrating the change in year.

After a few years to ourselves, we could think about children... as many as you want to have. I'd be happy with one – one child to love and love and love – but we could have two or three or four if you wanted, and we'd love them all the same. I could teach them how to play the games I learned as a child, and if the day came and you agreed it was okay, maybe I could teach them the ways of the Force, the ways of the Jedi.

Some day, they'd grow up and have their own children, and you and I would grow old and gray as their proud grandparents. Our home on holidays could be filled with the lives and love of three generations for years and years and years. And then – when we're old – so, so old, we'd both fall asleep one night, our arms around each other, and we'd drift out of our lives and into the Force."

Padme was crying by the time he finished, though she wasn't aware, and she thought she might burst under the pressure of her swelling adulation. She reached her hand out, tenderly stroking his face, then lazily brushing back his hair, nails massaging his scalp.

"I couldn't think of a more perfect life," she whispered.

"Then it will be yours."

"Do you promise?"

Obi-Wan wondered if he was lying when he answered, but he wasn't sure he cared.

"I promise."

Padme's hand trailed through his hair to the back of his neck. She drew his head toward her with an aggression she'd yet to show, pressing his lips against hers. It was a sweet, gentle kiss for a few moments, but then it deepened at her insistence as she forced her tongue into his mouth. He reciprocated with equal fervor, his hands drifting up to frame her face.

When they finally parted, they were both a bit breathless as she drew his forehead down to hers, her hand still resting on the back of his neck. He let out a sigh of utter contentment, and she felt the deepest satisfaction of her life to know that she was its catalyst. This man loved her as much as she loved him. She longed to spend decades taking care of him, decades making him sigh like that, decades forcing him to accept just how wonderful he was.

"I will come for you," he whispered, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. "I have to do this, love. I have to do this alone. But I swear to you with all that I am, that I will come for you."

Padme shuddered, but after a dangerous, empty moment, she finally nodded in capitulation. He smiled gratefully, kissing her on the forehead, then placing a kiss on each of her eyelids.

"I love you, my Padme."

She squeezed her eyes shut, reaching for his head once more to place a hard kiss on his lips.

"I am yours."

Obi-Wan waited for her to open her eyes, to see them one more time, but when she pulled back, she kept them closed. It became clear to him that she had no intention of opening them again. She might retract her concession if she did.

With one last stroke of her silken face, the Jedi stood and slowly turned away. He felt compelled to speak again, but he knew he was out of words. So too was she.

For a short time, they just listened to each other breathing, but finally, Obi-Wan steeled himself to move, and without a look back, he left her behind, trading all things of worth for the bowels of an unwinnable battle.

Padme cried.

* * *

Brummel sat once more in a chair at the conference table, eyes scanning the room for anything that could pass for a weapon. He supposed if he smashed the holo-projector, he might come away with a jagged piece capable of harm, but that plan was nebulous at best. Realistically, he'd nothing with which to battle but his fists, his wits, and the Force. They'd have to do. 

He wondered if Padme was all right, if she and the others had managed to escape. The odds were extremely slim, he knew, and that brought up from his belly a new wave of anger. That poor woman, a compassionate soul if there ever was one. She was as strong of will and spirit as anyone he'd ever known, but she wasn't built for the things she'd done and seen. It infuriated him what his dear friend had been put through. The bond he'd developed with her that day was the strongest he'd shared with anyone in his life, stronger even than the infant, but deep connection he had with Obi-Wan. They'd faced death innumerable times together, borne their souls and supported one another more than many do in a lifetime. He'd kill his Master as much for her as for himself.

Brummel moved to stand again, but before he could rise from his chair, the Force elucidated in his mind's eye a brief image. He saw Pratt moving through the lobby of the Convention Center, passing an assembled congregation of clones, who stood at attention.

The boy scanned his surroundings again. He knew where he was now. The Convention Center wasn't more than several blocks from where he'd been when he lost consciousness. Pratt was no doubt coming for him now, to torture him perhaps, or maybe to kill him because he'd not been content to take his apprentice's life while he slept, and the hatred in Brummel's chest seemed to pulse now like a second heartbeat, thumping against his skeleton with the fury to shatter it.

He sprang up out of his seat, his fisted hands trembling at his sides as he began to pace the length of the table. Brummel closed his eyes, picturing his fingers curled around Pratt's throat, choking the life out of him. He thought about the way the Sith's eyes would look, the light fading as he died slowly of asphyxiation, painfully, the way he deserved to. It would be justice for all Jedi, for all good men and women, vengeance.

There were footsteps outside, not too far away.

"Come on," the boy whispered. "Come on..."

They grew closer.

"Come on..."

Closer, closer.

"Come on."

Brummel shook with anger. The door opened, disappearing up into the ceiling, revealing Pratt and a red-clad executive guard, who held a blaster at his side. With a small smile, the Master stepped inside, the guard to his left, as the door shut and locked again behind them.

He looked comfortable, confident, as if he knew how every moment would play out based on his protégé's historic temperament. He'd not anticipated what a day like this could to a man, though, how it could change them.

Pratt's expression was one of genuine shock when the boy leapt across the room, jumping on the table and then springing from there toward his two captors. The Sith was too stunned to deflect the heavy fist that struck his jaw as Brummel landed.

With an eerie, rumbling grunt, the Jedi knocked the blaster from the guard's hand, then slipped behind him and wrapped an arm around his throat, bracing the other on his head and snapping the man's neck with one violent twist.

The dead weight dropped to the ground in front of him, and before Pratt could make it to his feet, Brummel tackled him back to the ground, straddling his chest as he began to pummel him with both fists, one after the other, over and over and over, like he'd not stop until the dark lord was dead. The boy's anger flowed through him, his every strike made more powerful by the weight upon his heart, his grief oozing out of his knuckles, scraped and cut and stained with his mentor's blood.

In his acrimony, though, sense and strategy eluded him. He could have killed the man quite easily if he'd just kept on hitting him, but instead, Brummel abruptly climbed off of him, so that he could begin kicking the Sith in the ribs. The first several kicks connected, but as he wound back for another, Pratt came to enough to grab his other leg and trip him.

Grasping for one of the chairs, Brummel found only air and couldn't stop his descent to the floor. Acting quickly, his Master reached out and braced a hand on the table, struggling to his feet as he unclipped and lit his lightsaber.

The Jedi rolled onto his back, ready to pop back up, but he came face to face with the blade of Pratt's weapon, the tip no more than five inches from his throat. Brummel trembled still in his fury, but he knew better than to move, his gaze drifting up to his teacher's treacherous eyes.

Pratt's face looked mangled, bruised and bloody all over, his nose half-crooked where the bone was clearly crushed, one eye half-shut from swelling and the other dark red like a blood vessel had broken, and though one might have suspected a baneful lord of the Sith to be full of anger and hate just then, his split lips turned up in a grin as he spat blood from his mouth onto the boy's body.

"Impressive," he said with a short cackle, which turned into a cough. "I'd not known you had that in you, my apprentice."

"I'm not your apprentice," the boy rumbled, voice low and gravelly.

"Oh, but you are. In fact, I suspect you'll pledge yourself to me for longer than you know."

"I will never pledge myself to you, you murderous bastard!"

Pratt's grin broadened eerily, gleefully.

"You don't yet know what I have to offer you."

Brummel's eyes narrowed, the muscles in his face spasming with the force it took to hold himself back.

"You have nothing I want, _Sith_," he ground out through gritted teeth. "I despise you."

Pratt nodded knowingly, his voice warm and kind, but black at its edges.

"Yes, you do. I can feel your anger pouring into the air. It gives you _focus_... makes you stronger."

Brummel said nothing, his gaze still frightfully dour, and his Master for a moment looked disappointed. It wasn't an expression foreign to the boy. In fact, the familiarity of it nearly made him retch. The Sith regarded him intently, eyes earnest.

"The flow of the Force through Naboo has opened a gateway to regions of power the Jedi would deem... _unnatural_," Pratt said thoughtfully, slipping into the false fatherly voice he'd cultivated during his time with the Order. "But I think they may be of interest to you, padawan."

"I told you, you have _nothing_ to offer me."

The Sith smiled gently, calmly, and with something resembling genuine affection. He even drew back his blade a few inches, giving the boy some room to breathe. His next words, though, stole the life and color from Brummel's face.

"Join me. Remain my apprentice," he offered graciously, "and you shall have the power to save Sabe."


	32. Jedi

A/N - (Insert standard plea for reviews here). Feedback is fuel. If you're enjoying this, or if you have a suggestion, question, or criticism, do be kind and hit that "Review" button. Thanks.

* * *

Brummel's breath hitched. The Sith had obviously been digging through his mind while he was unconscious, and it hadn't taken him long to find his pupil's weakness. He knew the depth of Brummel's feelings for Sabe and he sought now to use them against him, to lure the boy to the Dark Side with the false promise of new life for his beloved, the most alluring of all temptations. 

The Jedi fought his every reactionary inclination when he answered, somehow asserting a control over his emotions that he'd not had since he regained consciousness, his voice every bit as calm and dignified as it had been for most of his young life.

"I'll not be wooed by apocryphal promises of wizardry, _my lord_."

Pratt smiled gently, impressed by the boy's disciplined recovery. He hadn't expected such a measured, cutting remark. It would take more than just the claim to convince his padawan.

"There's nothing spurious about my assertion, Brummel. It is a very real power, one found only within the rich caverns of the Dark Side. None who've come before us have been able to harness this ability, but as the Force came to surge through this planet, it revealed to me its greatest secrets... the power to create life, and the power to revive it."

The Jedi's words were still delivered calmly, but it was clear by the glow in his eyes that he was not unmoved by his mentor's claims.

"I don't believe you," he said. "And even if I did, I'd not be moved to embrace the darkness."

Pratt nodded disingenuously.

"Of course. You're a loyal, resolute Jedi."

The Sith stepped back, no longer holding his blade to the boy's throat, but just as he'd expected, Brummel made no offensive movement, merely leaning forward and sitting up.

"But one must wonder, padawan, about the worth of gentlemen's loyalties in times like these," he said reasonably. "The galaxy is changing. The Jedi have fallen. There is no force but your own allegiance to the Code to keep you from accepting an offer like mine... a Code that you've, quite _ironically_, already forsaken by feeling love for a woman at all."

His incisive words cut the apprentice deeply. However Brummel might have justified his and Obi-Wan's affections for Sabe and Padme, the fact remained that the Code allowed for no attachments, and they'd failed to abide by that tenant. If Brummel had been willing to disobey a portion of the Order's manifesto already, was it such a stretch for him to renounce other parts as well, especially in service of the love he'd felt more important than his Jedi vows?

Pratt continued quickly, not giving him time to process his feelings.

"As my apprentice, Brummel, you were always wise and independent. You allowed me to teach you without letting me define you. We worked together brilliantly, while not always agreeing on substance or methods. You challenged me. Our new relationship would be no different."

The boy shook his head vehemently.

"There can be no partnership with a Sith, only domination."

Pratt smiled disarmingly.

"Just as with the Jedi, my boy, I am not shackled by tradition," he said. Brummel noticed the Sith's lightsaber had been switched off. He couldn't remember that happening. "Look into your heart, padawan. You know that to be true."

The young warrior's head felt like a statue, weighing down on his neck. He couldn't muster a reply.

"Brummel, if one is to understand the great mystery, they must study _all _of its aspects, not just the narrow, dogmatic view of the Jedi. If you endeavor to be a complete and venerable man – a man of conscience and purpose – then you must be willing to transcend the bonds of your mind's enslavement and embrace a larger view of the Force."

"The Dark Side is evil," the boy managed. "One cannot explore it without it consuming them."

Pratt sighed.

"It disappoints me to hear you say that, son. Do you truly have so little faith in your autonomy?"

Brummel looked away, considering the question. Was it truly beyond men to explore the Dark Side without falling to temptation? Obi-Wan seemed to think so, as had Windu, Lunar, Kooth, and Ki-Adi-Mundi. But he didn't have their counsel right now. There was just him and Pratt and an offer that appealed to the part of him that grieved.

The boy's eyes were full of conflict and confusion for longer than he knew, but after some span of instances passed, they cleared and hardened.

"I'll not give up twenty years spent defending something based on your claim to a lost magic."

Pratt nodded indulgently, smiling fondly.

"Of course. You are wisely caustic in this matter," he said. "But you need not act based on my word alone. I will show you this power. You will see it with your own eyes."

Brummel stiffened.

* * *

Padme ambled around the remnants of the classroom, mind hazy with fear and fatigue and conflicting emotions toward Obi-Wan, for whom she harbored feelings of love, anger, understanding, and betrayal just then. She understood, of course, why he'd left her behind. He feared for her safety and, though he'd never have verbalized it, considered her a liability in carrying out his mission. She had to admit that he was right. She'd no doubt have slowed the Jedi down. 

That didn't change the way she felt about things, though. For the second time this horrid day, Obi-Wan had left her to hide while he walked head-on into the storm. She knew it wasn't because he thought her incapable of fending for herself, but that's nevertheless how it made her feel, and Padme wasn't someone used to being helpless.

Without even realizing it, she'd begun to shed tears again, and she wiped them away with frustrated swipes. Left alone without any immediate peril to confront for the first time that day, she had nothing to do but entertain the thoughts she'd pushed down out of necessity earlier.

She'd seen such death and despair, participated in it even. Master Windu's head had been torn from his neck right before her eyes. She'd watched as a blaster shot ripped off part of the Captain's face. Sabe had been slaughtered mere feet from her. Goren had gargled blood before she left him to his noble end. These images played in her mind like a looping slideshow. She wasn't sure she'd ever find peace with them, or if she even should.

Padme rubbed at her eyes as if she could force out of them the horror and weariness, but they lingered there somewhere behind her irises, safe from any and all efforts to dislodge them. The senator sighed, sitting down on the edge of one of the few intact student desks.

Her Obi-Wan was alone.

* * *

Obi-Wan moved through the shadows like an apparition, boots all but silent on the pavement as he navigated a tortuous path through the ruins of Theed, avoiding with relative ease the pockets of confused clones, who were in complete disarray as they tried in vain to reestablish contact with their military superiors. 

As he overheard some of their confused, desperate banter, he felt a surprising pang of sympathy for them. They seemed almost like children separated from their parents in an unfamiliar locale. He knew that it wouldn't be long, though, before runners – sent on foot to track down commanders and report back – would return to these splintered groups with news.

But for now, the Jedi moved through the blackened city confidently, though he took more care in the sparse smattering of stretches that were still lit, and as he saw a street sign hanging from a half-cleaved lamppost, he realized he was less than a mile from the entertainment district. His Force sense of Palpatine heightened at the recognition. He'd find the Chancellor there.

Obi-Wan couldn't help but wonder about Brummel as he moved about. He should have taken heart in his vision of the padawan with Pratt, but he sensed in their encounter a surprising darkness and it unnerved him not to know the source. Regardless, it would do him no good to linger on his feelings of unease, he knew, and his friend had proven quite capable of standing on his own two feet, so the young Master released his feelings into the Force as best he could.

His thoughts after that lingered for a time on Padme, his heart heavy with guilt as he recalled the look in her eyes when he'd told her he was leaving her again. Oh, how he hated to know he was responsible for the terror and hurt he'd seen in those eyes. This was the way it had to be, though. It wasn't that Padme was incapable of rising to the occasion; it was that he'd not be able to carry out his duty if she were at his side. He'd have been so devoted to looking after her, that his movements and reflexes would have been severely lacking. He was confident she understood that, though, and so once again – with a deep, calming breath – Obi-Wan let his concerns drift into that wide black gulf of the Force.

When he trailed along the darkened remnants of a tailor's shop, the Jedi stopped abruptly as a flash of light passed urgently through his mind's eye. He let out an audible gasp, overwhelmed by the brief – but desperate and insistent – burst of energy. It wasn't a foreboding discharge of the Force, however. It was warm and pure and in some sense familiar, like a flicker of the serenity he'd always found in the Room of a Thousand Fountains at the Jedi Temple.

He wasn't sure he had the time for a detour of this nature, but he felt the gentle pull of the Force tugging on the collar of his shirt, and before he knew it, he'd gently ducked under the half-collapsed doorway of the shop and slipped inside.

The store's interior had actually survived the Chancellor's siege quite well. While the first layer of glass in the display window had been shattered, the second was merely cracked in a few places, and the mannequins – a man and a woman, each sharply dressed – were unharmed. Likewise, the many garments racked throughout the main area were as pristine as they'd been before this madness began.

Obi-Wan still wasn't certain what it was he was looking for. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary to be found here, just overpriced, exotic fabrics. He wondered in passing if the store's owner had been as lucky as his inventory.

The Jedi's head whipped to one side as he heard a small thud – a shoe against a hard surface maybe – somewhere in the back of the shop. Certain now that he wasn't alone, he stood instantly at attention, lightsaber in hand.

He proceeded toward the checkout counter with slow, steady steps, his every sense keenly aware of his surroundings. As he drew nearer to it, though, his apprehension was replaced by a feeling of fear – pure, unbridled, overpowering fear.

It wasn't his. The fear belonged to another.

Interest piqued, Obi-Wan approached with something like wonder, coming to a stop near the register and peering over the counter. He wasn't at all all prepared for what he found.

Upon laying eyes on the Jedi, a small, freckled boy with a shortish mess of dark brown hair – no older than nine or ten – jumped up off of the floor, switching on a lightsaber, which he held in front of him in both of his tiny, trembling hands, as Obi-Wan recoiled in surprise, careful to step out of range of the green blade.

"Stay back! I'll kill you!" the boy shouted.

Obi-Wan clipped his own lightsaber back on his belt, then held his hands up, palms open, in a gesture of surrender.

"Hello there," the Jedi said calmly. "Easy now. I'm not here to harm you."

The boy, still quavering in fear, looked on Obi-Wan with uncertainty, his eyes running up and down the Master's body. He noticed the lightsaber on his elder's belt.

"Wh-where did you get that?" his tiny voice asked.

Obi-Wan smiled, careful to acknowledge his weapon without reaching for it.

"This? I'm a Jedi," he said warmly, doing his best to calm the boy with a kind, soft tone. "As are you from the looks of things."

The joke was lost on the frightened youngster, who was constantly readjusting his grip on the lightsaber to compensate for his sweaty hands and small fingers.

"You don't look like a Jedi," he accused. "You're not dressed like the other ones."

Obi-Wan nodded placatingly.

"That's true, I'm not. You're smart to notice that," he offered kindly. "But it's only because my tunic was cut to pieces earlier today. I assure you, I am a Jedi."

The boy looked skeptical, though it was apparent how badly he wanted to believe him.

"If you're a Jedi, what's your name?"

"My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi."

At that, the boy's eyebrows nearly slipped up into his hairline, his mouth falling open.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi? The one who saved us from the traders?"

The Jedi smiled at his awe and enthusiasm, but as it always did, the implication that he was a savior of any sort made him squirm in discomfort. Still, he nodded graciously.

"One and the same, my young friend. What, may I ask, is _your_ name?"

There was a long, uncomfortable pause as the boy considered whether or not to answer, his warring emotions flashing in his innocent eyes, but finally, after his piercing gaze into Obi-Wan's optics turned up nothing but kindness and trustworthiness, he answered.

"Lacian."

"Well, it is my pleasure to meet you, Lacian," the Jedi said, lowering his hands. "How about you turn that off? It's hard for me to concentrate with that waving around."

Lacian complied immediately, much to Obi-Wan's surprise, switching off the lightsaber and quickly setting it down on the counter, like he was relieved and ecstatic to be rid of it. When his hands were free, his body visibly relaxed, releasing all of the tension it had amassed since the Master's arrival.

Obi-Wan, comfortable that the situation was well in hand now, began to breach the distance between them, approaching the counter again.

"Can I ask where you got that?"

The boy glanced at the lightsaber, then up at Obi-Wan.

"It was one of the Jedi's. I found it after they took him."

"Do you remember the Jedi's name?"

"No. But he had long brown hair in a ponytail."

Obi-Wan frowned.

"Was his skin like yours and mine?"

Lacian nodded, casting his eyes down. The Jedi's stomach tightened.

"What happened to him?"

"They... beat him, and then..." The boy's forehead creased in distress once more. "They took his clothes off and dragged him through the street, and they kept beating him the whole time. He had blood all over him. It was everywhere."

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut. It was Cin Drallig, he knew. As far as he could recall, there wasn't another Jedi in the Order who fit that description. No doubt his friend had gone down fighting. He'd been a gifted swordsman – teaching Obi-Wan a trick or two over the years – and his steadfast dedication to his duty was something to be commended. What a gruesome, horrific end to befall a man of such honor and dignity.

"Did you know him?" Lacian asked softly.

Gathering his composure, Obi-Wan opened his eyes and smiled sadly.

"Yes, I did. He was a courageous and wise Jedi. He shall be missed."

The boy nodded, and Obi-Wan was surprised by the deep reservoir of sympathy and reverence he found in his eyes. Even in dire circumstances, children rarely understood – or even sought to understand – the full gravity of a tragic occurrence. They didn't, and perhaps shouldn't have been asked to, explore loss and death the way an adult would. But this boy was different.

"I have his clothes," Lacian blurted out suddenly.

"His clothes?"

"They left them out in the street next to his lightsaber when they dragged him off. When I couldn't see the soldiers anymore, I grabbed everything and ran in here."

Obi-Wan nodded with a melancholy smile, and though he wasn't quite sure why, he asked the boy if he could see his friend's apparel.

"Yeah, they're back here," Lacian said, gesturing behind him to the storage room in the back. "They're barely even ripped. But there's, um, some..."

He didn't seem to want to say the word 'blood,' and Obi-Wan didn't make him, expressing his understanding with a tight bow of his head before he climbed over the counter and came to stand beside the boy. As they began to walk back to the storage room, the Jedi almost smiled at how close Lacian was to him, the youngen's shoulder brushing his hand. It wasn't but a couple minutes prior that the boy had threatened to kill him.

Lacian pushed the half-open door the rest of the way to the wall, then walked inside, Obi-Wan coming in behind him. The small room – filled with various sewing supplies and clothing fabrics and sanitary materials – was dimly lit by a small bulb hanging from the ceiling.

On the floor at the room's center were Drallig's boots, pants, and tunic, just as Lacian had said. The tunic was wet with a couple blotches of blood, and there were a few droplets on the pants as well.

Obi-Wan let out a heavy sigh, feeling so, so old. Seconds passed and his knees felt weaker and weaker, like the weight on his shoulders was literal and not figurative. He wiped his face, a little rough now with a day's worth of stubble, and shut his eyes.

Lacian, forgotten for a moment, spoke up from beside him.

"Mister Kenobi?"

"Yes?"

"Are you going to make the soldiers go away?"

Obi-Wan glanced at Drallig's cloak, and then he nodded.

"Yes, Lacian," he said. "All of them."


	33. The Choice

A/N: Thanks very much to those who reviewed! I'm glad a couple new people have stumbled upon this, and I offer thanks to the couple who've been following for a while. The kind words are greatly appreciated and inspire me to keep on with this. It's easy to lose track of writing this story, but I want very badly to finish this piece and plan to do so.

Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy this installment. Leave a review and tell me what you think.

* * *

Pratt's smile harbored no warmth as he calmly stepped around Brummel, careful to keep the young man in his peripheral vision. He was confident that his apprentice would let this play out, but he'd take no chances. His arrogance and carelessness had nearly been his undoing minutes earlier.

Brummel watched with uneasy interest as the Sith came to stand over the dead guard. As he looked at the corpse, supine and motionless, it struck him now how easily he'd killed him. It wasn't but four days ago that he'd spent a restless evening in the Room of a Thousand Fountains contemplating the nature of the Force, feeling much the part of virtue's guardian, but now, as he looked upon this broken body, the Jedi knew that he had murder in his soul.

With a soft grunt, his body contesting the effort, Pratt crouched down beside the guard's corpse. He looked back at Brummel confidently, his smile twisting into a wicked grin.

"Now, my boy, you will see what is possible within the Force's dark province."

The words chilled the student, who could form none of his own in reply, consigned for the moment to look on mutely as Pratt placed his hand – palm down – on the dead guard's chest, his long, pale fingers seeming to sink down into the white of the corpse's armor. He turned away from his padawan, closing his eyes as his head bowed in concentration.

Within moments, a brilliant maroon light spread out from underneath the Sith's hand, seeming to work its way through the guard's body before rising from his armor in a thin mist. Pratt's eyes moved wildly beneath their lids as if caught in the current of a dream, and his body seemed to lightly tremble as if from the touch of cold air unfelt by Brummel.

The corpse began to spasm beneath the Sith's hand, legs kicking out wildly, shoulders shimmying in a dance they'd not consented to, and the red light grew darker, seeming to completely engulf both men as the air grew thicker with an ominous fog.

As quickly as the surreal display began, though, it ended abruptly, the maroon smoke sucked out of the air, funneling in two small streams down into the eyes of the fallen guard, whose body ceased to glow, the natural white of his armor restored, but much to Brummel's total awe, when Pratt removed his hand, the guard took in a desperate, gasping breath and sprang up into a sitting position, alive.

The Jedi blinked in confoundment, turning to his mentor with disbelieving eyes.

Pratt smiled at Brummel, but reserved no such affection for the revived guard. He looked down on the confused minion with an impatient scowl.

"Leave us."

Though his head was still thick with disorientation and questions, the guard recognized the grave nature of his commander's tone, standing immediately on unsteady feet, stumbling toward the door as if he were walking for the first time. Though bewildered, his exit was swift and the door was sealed behind him, leaving the Master alone with his apprentice, who was flummoxed beyond words.

"What trick have you brought to my eyes, Sith?" Brummel grumbled uncertainly. "And what end do you pursue?"

Pratt sighed, an affectionate grin tugging at his cut lips.

"I've nothing to gain in such a ruse, my boy. Why do you deny the truth still, when you've now seen my promise plainly before you?"

Brummel looked away, jaw tight as he stared at the floor. It truly was beyond denial. He'd seen the guard – the man he'd killed as sure as he knew his own name – resurrected, brought back from the labyrinth of the Force with a second chance. Pratt's claim to dominion over death was a veracious one. He truly did command this power.

What did that mean? What did it change? Could he still turn down his mentor's offer, knowing it was buoyed by the truth? Should he?

Sabe was as dear to him as the fate of the Force. In fact, her death lingered in the ether like a cavernous wound. The Force had been damaged by her demise. To revive her would be to heal it. But would walking down the dark path not offer a new wound, one even deeper?

Perhaps he could accept Pratt's offer, learn this great secret from him, and then – his Sabe revived – turn away from the dark path.

That was a fantasy, though. He knew how the darkness could consume a man. Even now, it sought to seduce him, whispered to his very spirit. How could he expect to cast it out once it had at weaved itself into his very essence?

No. The Dark Side was a merchant that dealed in absolutes. Right here, right now, he had to make a choice, one which would forever define him. Whatever he decided, there would be no going back. He'd trade his soul for his love, or his love for his soul, and no matter what he chose, he'd only be half a man.

"I see the war being waged within you, Brummel," Pratt murmured tenderly. "Duty versus love. It is the fight that writes history, the treaty that can't be brokered. There are no reconcilable elements. You can't reach a compromise. You must give yourself to one or the other."

"Precisely why there's no sense in your offer. You'd have me pledge a duty to the Sith in exchange for her life, for her love."

"I spoke only of the battle a Jedi faces. It is not a paradox amongst the Sith, padawan, for our duty is _to_ our passion. Duty and love occupy a singular space."

Brummel shut his eyes, bringing a hand up to touch his pounding forehead. It was an appealing notion, the idea that he could serve and feel in the same breath. It would be so easy. All he had to do was utter "yes." That was all it would take to feel her hands on his hips again, to taste her tongue on his tongue.

"I can feel your love for her," Pratt coaxed. "It is a truly pure thing... so pure, in fact, that I wonder if it might smother the will of the darkness."

Brummel lifted his head at that, regarding the dark lord questioningly. Pratt continued innocently.

"I wonder if a man with a love so gentle and true might somehow walk between the domains of the light and dark, if he might strike a perfect balance in the Force." He paused as if struck by an epiphany. "Balance..."

The Jedi, overwhelmed by fragmented musings and sensations, couldn't extract any meaning from Pratt's utterance. Once more, his Master expounded.

"I've always thought you were a special talent, but I never expected you'd be the last of your kind. I suppose you didn't either. With young Skywalker dead, it's become clear he was not the Chosen One. Wherever a void exists, though, so too does a man exist to fill it. In this case, a man in a unique position to walk unfettered between the realms of the Jedi and the Sith. A man like..." He smiled. "You."

* * *

Lacian sat on the floor behind the counter, waiting patiently for Obi-Wan to emerge from the back room. The Jedi had offered no explanation, but told the boy to excuse him for a few moments as he examined his deceased friend's clothes.

It was a strange request to Lacian, but he hadn't questioned it, content that the man had his reasons. He couldn't quite explain it, but already he implicitly trusted Obi-Wan. Perhaps it was just the stories he'd been told about the conflict with the Trade Federation. Perhaps it was his warm demeanor. Or perhaps it was something greater than that. The boy felt as if there something wonderful crawling beneath his skin, a comforting presence as real as the blood in his veins. Could it be the Force?

"The Force _is_ strong in you, young one."

Lacian looked up to find Obi-Wan standing in the doorway to the back room, his dirty shirt shed in favor of Drallig's tunic, which hung from his body exactly as it had from Drallig's, covered in part by the fallen Jedi's cloak. There should have been something morbid about the sight, but the boy thought he understood. It was likely a source of strength and a method of grieving to occupy the attire that had once adorned his friend's body.

The boy felt his eyes enlarging when he refocused and considered Obi-Wan's remark. Him, the orphaned son of a mill-worker father, strong in the ways of the Force?

"Your ears do not deceive you," the Jedi said gently. "I thought it was perhaps an echo of Master Drallig that drew me here, but in truth, it was something more. I sense now that I was meant to meet you."

"Me? Why?"

"The Force is not explicit in its currents and eddies, but I do believe that it is working through you."

"What does that mean?"

Obi-Wan smiled thinly.

"I'm not certain, to be candid. But there _was_ a reason for this meeting. Nothing happens by random chance."

Lacian noted how he spoke in the past tense, suddenly pulling himself off of the floor in earnest, approaching the Jedi.

"Wait, you're not leaving, are you?" he asked desperately. "Not without me, right?"

Obi-Wan felt a weight settling on his heart at the tone of the boy's plea. Lacian was frightened beyond imagination.

"I'm afraid where I'm going, you can't follow, my friend. It's a darkness not meant for the young."

"I'm not scared of the dark," the boy declared boldly. "Not with you, at least."

Obi-Wan laid a hand on Lacian's small shoulder.

"I don't doubt your valor, Lacian, or even that you'd be a help," he replied, the second statement a kind fib, "but I need you to remain here."

"But Mister Kenobi, you said the Force brought you here because of me. If you won't need me, why are you here?"

"That's not immediately clear to me. I do know, though, that you're not meant to leave here right now, that I'm to meet my fate alone. I humbly ask that you trust in that."

There was a pregnant pause as Lacian struggled with what was being asked of him. When Obi-Wan had arrived, he'd felt safe for the first time since this horror began, when his orphanage was destroyed by ships from the sky. He trusted the Jedi to speak the truth, but the thought of being alone once more was a burden difficult to bear and he worried what might happen to the warrior if he stepped foot outside this store again.

With a weak nod, he finally relented. "Okay."

Obi-Wan looked down on him gratefully. He was a very impressive child, much more mature than Anakin had been at that age, and he felt the beginnings of a Force bond developing between them.

"I meant what I said. The Force is strong in you. I _will_ return to explore the matter."

"Do you promise?"

Obi-Wan would have looked away if he could have, but he found it impossible to break the boy's gaze. Looking into his eyes, he saw a faint flicker hope, nursed by Lacian through this dark night, and the thought of extinguishing it was just too much for him.

"I promise."

Lacian nodded docilely, and after a few seconds, Obi-Wan finally broke his gaze, lifting himself up over the counter, coming down on the side opposite the boy.

As he started to walk toward the door, Lacian called out to him vehemently.

"Mister Kenobi!"

Obi-Wan turned back, surprised to see the boy holding out Drallig's lightsaber. His quizzical expression prompted Lacian to explain himself.

"You might need this."

"I already have one, remember?" the Jedi replied curiously, gesturing to his own.

The boy was insistent, though.

"You might need another one. Take it."

"No, Lacian. If you have cause to defend yourself, I want you to possess the means."

His young companion sighed stubbornly.

"Would you take it... please?" he asked. "I just... I have a feeling you'll need it."

Obi-Wan searched Lacian's eyes for some sign of his insistence's source, but all he found there was confusion, for the child knew not the origin himself. It was possible that Lacian had unwittingly sensed something in the Force, something which commanded him to act.

After a long moment in which he weighed Lacian's safety versus the boy's entreaty and the will of the Force itself, Obi-Wan finally nodded, accepting the lightsaber from his outstretched hand. He simply held it for a moment, giving the boy one last look, and then he clipped it onto the back of his belt.

"Go into the storage room and lock the door," he said grimly. "Lock the door, and do not open it for a solitary soul."

Lacian nodded, his eyes free of tears, and then he watched the brave Jedi disappear into the night.

* * *

Padme felt like tearing her skin from her body, if only so she could concentrate on the pain. This waiting was infinitely more agonizing than anything she'd ever suffered physically. It wasn't in her nature to calmly await the outcome of something over which she had no control. Obi-Wan's and Brummel's fates were their own to write.

She was tired of being left behind, marginally protected from the atrocities her love and her friend confronted. Why was it fair for her to wait in the relative safety of this ruined building while they fought the battle that would determine the course of history, and what right did Obi-Wan have to decide her role for her?

None, she decided. Absolutely none.

His selflessness and stubborn nature were a constant source of consternation, and Brummel wasn't much better. They knew she wasn't fragile; she knew they both respected her formidable spiritual strength. And yet here she was, waiting for events to unfold.

Padme fingered the frayed edge of the history textbook, remembering what she'd read all those years ago.

With a sudden, surprising determination, she decided the waiting was at an end. She'd not be a bystander as the galaxy's fate was decided. She'd not resign to reading history before it was even written. She'd help write it herself, impose her will on the flow of what would be.

Padme rose up from the edge of the desk, crossing the classroom and bending down where she and Obi-Wan had sat, retrieving her bulky blaster from the cold, dirty floor.

She had no idea where she was going to go or what she planned to do, but she was sure that anything – perhaps even death – was preferable to hiding in the dark in this brokendown place.

Padme took one last look around the savaged house of learning, then made her way across the pile of rubble that stood between her and the entrance. She could feel the fabric of her pants pierced several times by jagged refuse, could feel a few new shallow cuts on her legs, but her brain no longer registered the pain. She'd seen and felt too much for it to recognize trivial discomforts.

The senator reached the entranceway, and with one glance back, she used every pound of her slender frame to force the door open, grunting as the pitch-black night spilled inside.

She had neither a destination, nor a plan to get to it, but Padme stepped outside into the dark void, and as her feet found pavement, she knew the war was now a part of her.

Then she began to walk.

* * *

Brummel's young, lineless forehead creased as if he were fifty.

"Me?"

Pratt nodded curiously, like the epiphany surprised him as much as it did his padawan, but Brummel couldn't gauge the sincerity of his comportment. Still, he couldn't help but be reminded of the man he'd _thought_ Pratt was: a gentle, kind, wise soul, whose musings often got the best of him, taking him to places the Council wished he wouldn't go.

His Master had also had a propensity to test the limits of the Jedi and their Code, but he'd always been forthright and thoughtful. Despite the way the Dark Side had clearly perverted him, Brummel could still see glimpses of the man who had raised and trained him. Pratt had displayed very little anger thus far in their encounter. In fact, if the padawan didn't understand with every fiber in his being the overwhelming evil of the Force's dark extreme, he might have even said Pratt was being reasonable.

But what of this new assertion, this new theory? Was he implying that Brummel could himself be the Chosen One, the man destined to bring balance to the Force? If he resurrected Sabe, brought her back from the edge of oblivion, could his love for her keep him from falling into total darkness? Could he navigate the Force without choosing a side? He'd never known the Force to brook neutrality.

Pratt seemed to know what he was thinking.

"Brummel, in this new moment, the Force has opened up a universe of limitless possibility. No more are we to be constrained by anachronistic designations," he said, his pitch rising. "Jedi, Sith – it means _nothing_. A man is not a product of his name, but of a web infinitely more complicated. To judge a man by one act is to lack wisdom in any form."

He sighed, looking away from the Jedi as he lost himself in a memory.

"Do you recall the time when you thought you'd slain Banek Carn?"

Brummel nodded absently as he thought back over the ordeal.

He'd been sparring with one of his fellow students, a young man whose skills never quite caught up to his confidence in them. He'd been an arrogant man, a little like Anakin, but like Obi-Wan's student, Carn had his redeeming qualities.

During their match, Carn had gained an advantage and begun to gloat before he'd secured the victory, and Brummel – drawing in part on his irritation, maybe even anger – had swept the man's legs out from under him, then nearly killed him with his lightsaber. He'd meant to hold it to Carn's chest in a mocking fashion, but Carn had sat up, and then the blade had pierced his body.

Brummel could remember the self-loathing he'd felt. He'd thought he killed his fellow padawan, but Pratt – who had been watching the match from just outside – appeared almost instantly, healing Carn in a matter of moments.

Carn had forgiven him, of course, for he wasn't the type to hold a grudge. Pratt had forgiven him too. In fact, his Master had never even reported the incident to the Council, a clear violation of the Code. Brummel had never forgiven _himself_ for it, though, and that shame had been a constant motivation to do and be better. He'd never lost control again during his training.

Pratt grunted fondly, turning back to face him.

"If I had reported you to the Council, you'd have surely been reprimanded, and though they'd not have given serious thought to casting you out, you'd have forever borne the taint of the event in their eyes. They would have used that one single incident to second-guess your every statement, action, and decision, and it would have slowly destroyed you." The Sith looked down on him earnestly. "Was I wrong to save you from that fate, Brummel? Would it have been better if I'd let them crush your soul for that mistake of inches?"

The Jedi shifted uncomfortably, not meeting his elder's gaze.

"That was a long time ago. I've no desire to explore a genealogy of choices. Whatever happened, happened, and it has no bearing on our present impasse."

"It has every bearing!" Pratt snapped in frustration, his voice taking on the dark undercurrent it had possessed before he killed Crinnin. "You have succeeded and survived because I have _allowed_ it! I could have killed you at any moment on Coruscant, or earlier tonight during your insurrection. And yet _still_ you concede me nothing."

Brummel took a series of jagged breaths as Pratt lambasted him, trying but failing to center himself in the Force. All at once, he wanted to accept the offer, turn down the offer, and kill the man for making it. Was Pratt right? Was Brummel nothing more than a product of his Master's choices? And could he truly be the Chosen One? Could it be his destiny to save Sabe and walk the line between light and dark?

"I offer you this chance, and yet all you can do is parrot your precious Jedi Code and minimize all that which I have done for you. The only reason your heart still beats is because I love it as if it were mine. You are my son, as sure as you're a man. Will you truly turn your back on me now? Is your mind so ill?"

Brummel squeezed his eyes closed, an image of his Sabe floating through his brain. He had the means to save her. What kind of man would he be if he didn't?

"My dear boy, darkness is just a word. No matter how badly Ben desires for you to believe otherwise, there is nothing evil about the path I ask you to walk," Pratt said, his voice gentle again and quiet, so, so quiet that it brushed his ears like a soft hand. "Join me, and together we will save Sabe."

Brummel turned away from him, pushing himself up off of the floor, his head spinning, mind and soul a single puzzle with pieces that didn't fit.

_Save her._

_Turn away from this._

_Will you let her die? Are you so callous?_

_Will you embrace the Dark Side? Are you so weak?_

_Save her._

_Turn away._

_Pratt loves you._

_He is seducing you. It is the way of all evil._

_You are the Chosen One._

_You are but a man._

_You will bring balance._

_You will destroy all that which you profess to care for._

_Sabe will fade into nothingness._

_Obi-Wan would not do this._

_Obi-Wan is not here._

_What does the fate of the Force matter if you should lose your love?_

_What does the fate of your love matter if you should lose your own soul?_

Pratt smiled eerily.

"Together, we can do anything. Master and apprentice."

Brummel snapped out of his ragged, painful cognition, the hacksaw conflict in his mind resolved in a moment of blessed, thorough clarity. All indecision was forced out of his being, replaced by a somber resignation about what was to be done.

He turned slowly around, facing Pratt with tortured, but resolute eyes.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi is my Master," the Jedi said, "and I am a servant of the light."

Pratt's smile dissolved into a scowl.

"Then there is nothing more to say."

The Sith ignited his lightsaber, his eyes glowing yellow as the weaponless padawan raised his fists to fight.

* * *

A/N: We're headed toward a climax in the next few chapters. I hope I'm building suspense rather than just slowing things down to much. I felt like it was really important for Brummel and Pratt to have a long, complex discourse, because Brummel is such a steadfast character that it would take some skillfull rhetoric by Pratt to make him consider turning. Thanks again, and leave a review! 


	34. The Man Who Would Be King

A/N: Many thanks to ewan's smile, PeaceGuardian, and the anonymous user who came out of the shadows for the kind, encouraging reviews. I appreciate them very much.

As I mentioned before, we're drawing closer and closer to the climax here, so I hope you continue to follow along, and I hope you enjoy this installment!

* * *

Padme wasn't at all certain of where she was going. Unlike Obi-Wan, she didn't have the benefit of the Force to help guide her through the darkness. She had only her own eyes, and there was nothing they could do to bring color to the black. 

There was sparse illumination now and again from fires that hadn't flickered out yet or street lights that had survived the Chancellor's onslaught. She followed close to the light when she found it, but she wasn't sure how wise that was, as it left her more likely to be spotted by the clones.

The young senator found herself second-guessing her decision to step back into the fray. She had no idea where Obi-Wan was going or how she might find Brummel, and she wasn't certain how else she could make herself of use if not in their assistance. Padme had no desire to engage the scattered clone patrols on her own, especially since the communications blackout had likely left them agitated and more predisposed to killing her on sight.

As she moved along the battered wall of a half-demolished building in the business sector, a faint sound drifted around the far corner and found her open ears, a quiet whimper that soundly distinctly adult. At first, she thought maybe her mind was playing tricks on her, that she'd misheard the sound or that there'd not been one at all. But after a few moments, she heard it again.

Blaster trained outward, the pose now disturbingly natural, Padme slowly moved toward the end of the building, body pressed hard against the ragged exterior, fearful at what she might find. Her form tense, she cautiously craned her head around the corner where the structure's walls intersected, scanning the area for any sign of the sound's origin.

All was still.

All was quiet.

But then once more the whimper found her.

It sounded like it was coming from underneath the foundation, as if the cement had been poured on top of someone and built right over. Still caustic, Padme turned the corner, moving along the perpendicular wall, eyes continuing to scan the vicinity in vain.

A hand grabbed her ankle.

With a surprised, frightened shriek, Padme – governed by instinct – leaned down and hammered the hand with the butt of her blaster, hearing a pitiable yelp as it let go.

Looking down, she saw a small vestibule between the building and the ground that she hadn't made out before. The small space was five feet deep, barely big enough for a person, but through the darkness, the senator could just barely make out the body of a woman, cowering now after Padme's reactionary strike.

Acting on an instinct of a different kind now, the young politician crouched down, feeling guilt rise through her chest as she took in the terrified outline, which whimpered still.

"Shh, shhh. It's okay; I'm sorry," Padme whispered, tentatively reaching down to her. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm so sorry I did that."

The woman only slunk back further, cradling her offended hand close to her.

"I won't hurt you," repeated the senator. "I'm a friend. My name is Padme."

The woman leaned forward a bit, straining to make her out in the darkness. Recognition flashed across her trembling features.

"Queen Padme?"

With a gentle smile, the former magistrate nodded. It was a name that seemed to follow her around whenever she was home on Naboo, a moniker given to her by commentators and followers on the HoloNet. The attention and scrutiny had decreased considerably since she'd left behind the throne for a Senate seat, but her constituents still commonly used the designation.

"Yes, that's right," Padme said reassuringly. "Are you injured? Did someone hurt you?"

"I – I – I – they took – killed everyone," she caterwauled. "Just killed them. Grimstell tried to pu – push me in front of him. T – told them to take me, b – but they just shot him, and then I ran and th – they shot everyone else, and I r – ran and ran and ran..."

"Shh," Padme whispered, reaching down far enough now to take hold of her sweaty, dirty hand. "It's okay now. You're okay."

The woman nodded dully. It wasn't completely apparent whether she believed her, but the word of the former monarch carried great weight.

"What's your name?"

"Selsha."

"All right, Selsha," Padme said calmly, giving her hand a small squeeze. "Would you like to come out now?"

"No!"

The volatility with which she spoke the word took the senator aback, but she tried not to let it show, smiling indulgently.

"Okay," she said. "We don't have to go just yet."

Selsha nodded gratefully, tightening her grip on Padme's hand. Neither of them said anything for a minute, maybe two, Padme content to let the woman take comfort in this human contact for a short time. It surprised her when Selsha was the one to break the silence.

"What are we going to do?" she asked tearfully. "I don't know what to do."

Padme stroked her hand with her thumb, and she didn't reply at first, for she wasn't sure Selsha could handle the question she thought to pose. This woman was at best paralyzed by fear, and at worst on the brink of a catatonic shock, but somehow the senator had the sense that there was courage beneath her skin.

"I need to ask you a question, Selsha."

"What?" the small voice asked softly. "What is it?"

"Do you know how to use a blaster?"

* * *

Obi-Wan crept down the darkened street, seeing a significant gathering of clones in the near distance standing around and under the lit marquee of Naboo's oldest and most celebrated theater. There were at least twenty troopers guarding the hallowed building, but he imagined that number would have been notably higher if not for the confusion of the radio blackout. His odds were considerably improved. 

Unclipping his lightsaber, the Jedi stopped and examined his surroundings, looking for anything that could give him a tactical advantage. No such edge presented itself, though. It wasn't in his nature to be strategically blunt, but this situation seemed to require overwhelming force, a dicey proposition regardless of the confidence he had in his abilities.

As he continued through the shadows toward the theater, watching his enemies in the glow of the marquee, resigning himself to fighting twenty men, his tired mind – made slow by the sickness which lingered still – finally offered him a partial solution. He thought back to the forest earlier, when he'd uprooted those enormous trees; his attunement to the Force was undeniably at its peak this day.

His footsteps silent, Obi-Wan passed through the black night, slipping into an alleyway just across the street from the old theater, the clones in plain sight now, their restlessness apparent as some paced and others shifted their weight uncomfortably where they stood.

Obi-Wan allowed himself a moment, laying his head against the cool steel behind him. After all he'd been through today, all the things he'd seen and endured, these twenty men were all that stood between him and the Chancellor. Wiping his feverish brow with the back of his hand, he closed his eyes and called out to the Force, seeking its counsel in this crucial moment. It had no comfort to offer him, though. It had no outcome to present to him as fate. Truly, he and Palpatine would be destiny's deciders. No conclusion was foregone.

Steadying his mind and body, calmed by the knowledge that Padme was safe inside the ruins of the schoolroom, Obi-Wan pushed himself away from the wall, lightsaber in his firm, unflinching grasp, and then he stepped out of the shadows of the alleyway, stretching his off-hand out and communing once more with the Force.

As he emerged from the darkness, the glowing marquee – which read "Brahman Pace stars in 'The Man Who Would Be King'" – was abruptly torn from the face of the building, and before the troopers could react to Obi-Wan's shocking arrival, it came hurtling down into the middle of the pack, crushing half of them beneath its considerable weight.

Those who avoided immediate death sprang into action, blaster fire erupting in the once quiet night, but Obi-Wan lit his blade and deflected the shots with ease, sending several bolts back at the men who'd fired them, felling five of the ten remaining soldiers.

Holding his free hand palm-out, Obi-Wan sent a wave of energy through the air that knocked one of the surviving clones back into the fallen marquee, where a jagged metal outcropping passed through his body, killing him.

Then the Jedi began to walk calmly toward the men, as if he were strolling through the Order Temple, all the while deflecting the clones' blasts. One of them, feeling a sudden burst of courage or stupidity, charged at him, but one violent slash across the chest silenced him forever.

Before the man had even fallen, Obi-Wan gracefully brought his blade back up to protect himself, diverting two more shots back at the clones, dropping a pair of them. This left but one for the Jedi to contend with.

The soldier continued to fire in vain, but only moments later, Obi-Wan turned his palm up, and with the flick of his wrist, the clone's blaster was turned against him. He fired a shot into his own face against his will, dying instantly.

Obi-Wan paused amidst the fallen bodies, cringing at the vivid evidence of his deeds.. He felt a brief rush of pity for the men. They'd not asked to be born; the breath had been forced into them for a preprogrammed purpose. They were as much Palpatine's victims as anyone else.

Lingering a moment to look down at the flickering marquee, taking in the limbs which stuck out from underneath it, the Jedi let out a low, rumbling sigh, then proceeded up the theater steps toward the box office.

It was time for this to end.

* * *

Pratt charged at Brummel with a wide swing, hoping to conclude matters quickly, but the padawan avoided the blow with a lithe back-bend, then leapt out of his mentor's reach, landing gracefully on the conference table at the room's center. 

The Sith reacted quickly, turning and striking at the boy's feet with a heavy blow, but Brummel anticipated the attack again, this time flipping back onto the floor, leaving Pratt's blade to connect with the holo-projector in a brilliant display of sparks.

"Impressive," Pratt growled. "I expected less of you."

Brummel smirked.

"A mistake made by many today."

Pratt's eyes glowed as he began to circle the table, the apprentice following suit as they stared into one another's eyes, each man's resolve plain.

"Your words were not so brash before we voyaged here. Another trait you took from Ben...? Your new _Master_?"

"You'll find sharpness on the tongue of any man with nothing left to lose."

Pratt laughed malevolently, a rancorous joy filling his evil eyes.

"Do you truly believe you've nothing left to lose?" he asked. "You have more to lose than you could possibly know. There are things far worse than death, boy... worse than pain and torture of the body and spirit."

Brummel forced a neutral expression.

"Is it the lot of all Sith to speak in patronizing riddles?"

"I've come to possess a knowledge more infinite than you could possibly fathom, Jedi. The Force has whispered secrets whose telling alone could break a man. Do you think the power of life and death is where it ends? Do you think that's the full breadth of what I've come to know? There are things in this galaxy beyond human comprehension."

"And yet you profess to comprehend them."

"Not alone, I couldn't. But I have become one with the Force, with the Dark Side. My fate is linked to it as my heart is to my brain. It flows through my veins; it's embedded in my marrow."

"I've read this story before," Brummel replied sardonically. "And as I recall, it ended in death for the gentleman."

"You've no grasp of death. It cannot destroy me. And death will not be the end of your pain, but the beginning. You shall come to know that."

The Jedi stopped, regarding his elder with a mocking glare.

"I'm waiting, then."

Pratt leapt over the table, striking the wall with an overhand blow that Brummel barely avoided, then coming at him with a series of quick lunges and swipes, a couple of which singed the fabric of the boy's tunic, but never caught his flesh. With each miss, the Sith grew more frustrated, and his attacks grew incrementally more frenzied and wild.

Brummel, his body beaten and weary from the day's events, found it harder and harder to avoid his Master's blade as he back-peddled. It was only through his connection to the Force that he managed to remain a step ahead of the man, and he could feel his concentration lapsing.

When his link to the Force finally faltered for a split second, Pratt scored a glancing blow to his arm, drawing a surprised growl from his former student. But though the Sith sought to capitalize by delivering the fatal stroke, Brummel immediately reclaimed his focus, and as the red blade bore down on him, he dove out of its path, leaving it to strike the door's control panel, which broke apart in another burst of sparks.

Its mechanism triggered by the explosion, the door opened, retracting into the ceiling.

Brummel seized the opportunity, seamlessly completing his roll, then bounding through the open door, dodging another strike from Pratt's lightsaber.

Outside the conference room was an enormous marble walkway, which overlooked an equally immense lobby down below, where an entire company of troops was gathered. They'd not yet become aware of the confrontation above, giving Brummel a few precious moments to formulate a makeshift strategy as Pratt emerged through the open door.

The Jedi took a quick glance in every direction, searching for some kind of advantage. None immediately presented itself.

Pratt paused his advance momentarily, letting out an angry breath.

"You always were stubborn."

"I prefer the word 'determined,'" the boy replied cavalierly, bringing a hand up to the smarting wound on his arm. "And you'll find it gets worse."

Pratt surged toward his student again with fresh energy, his movements much more crisp and precise than they had been a few moments earlier, and Brummel now found it tremendously difficult to avoid the Sith's blade. Where he'd been a step ahead previously, he was now half a step ahead at best. He had to do something, and quickly, or this struggle was soon to end.

With little regard for the potential consequences, Brummel hopped off of the floor and up onto the railing of the walkway. Pratt swung at the boy's feet, determined to end things right then and there, but in a bold and surprising maneuver, the boy flipped backward off of the railing and down toward the lobby far below. It was a jump few would attempt, and one even fewer could successfully execute.

Pratt wasn't surprised, though, when he saw the Jedi land in a steady crouch.

The clones in the lobby, watching the events unfold with mild confusion, weren't certain how to proceed. Darth Ovid had been furious when they'd tried to intervene in one of his duels earlier that day. They had no desire to anger Pratt by encroaching on this conflict. Thus, they watched uneasily, leaving Brummel be.

Once more, the Jedi surveyed the area, and for the first time since the confrontation began, his prayers to the Force were answered.

One of the nearby clones, who stared back at him passively, had a pair of lightsabers fastened to his belt, no doubt trophies from one of the day's many slaughters. The trooper let out a surprised grunt when he felt them pulled from his belt, watching as they sailed through the air into Brummel's waiting hands.

He looked up then, waiting as Pratt stared down at him from above.

The Sith snarled as Brummel ignited the lightsabers, one blade orange and the other green.

A silent look passed between them. This was now a proper battle.

* * *

A/N: I'm not sure I care for this chapter, but it moves things along a bit. Leave a review and let me know what you think. Thanks very much! 


	35. Conception

A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews. Appreciate very much that Peace, seren, and Guest continue to follow along and offer feedback, and to ewan's smile, your thorough and thoughtful reviews are both appreciated and a pleasure to read.

I think a couple of questions which have lingered through this story are answered to some degree in this chapter. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Though the building's age was readily apparent, great pains had been taken in preserving it. The anachronistic architecture made it an anomaly, a relic of a Theed long vanished. The city had been rebuilt seventy-five years back, made to look sleeker and more contemporary, as Naboo's shrewd stewards had known the value of presentation in convincing the Republic of their modest planet's worth. 

This one theater, though, had survived that process of modernization, a sentimental favorite of monarchs and commoners alike. Upon construction hundreds of years prior, it had been a place where traveling performers plied their trade for the King's amusement or for that of visiting foreign dignitaries, but eventually, King Jaffan III had – in an effort to bolster his image as a "servant of the people" – opened it up to the public.

Obi-Wan could still recall the play he'd seen here with Padme during his stay after the conflict with the Trade Federation, a lavish production about a mysterious drifter who sought refuge in a small village. It was a tale of love, kinship, and redemption, and though its message and performances had been entirely maudlin, the Jedi had found the play's innocence and optimism charming.

But while his memory of that night was filled with an overflowing, colorful audience and warm, enthusiastic chatter, this moment now bore a silence and emptiness akin to grim death, and every shadow in the dimly-lit hall seemed to obscure some spring-loaded fiend.

As he passed the staircases leading up to the balconies and the doors leading to the floor seats, his sense of Palpatine grew stronger and stronger, drawing him down a long corridor toward the lone ingress at its end.

The surreality of this moment was palpable to Obi-Wan, who after innumerable obstacles and setbacks and losses, was at the cusp of the confrontation he'd sought this day in earnest. War was loud and busy and brought chaos to the eyes and ears, but all was now calm as he strode down the corridor toward his destiny.

Obi-Wan reached out through the Force in search of his countless fallen comrades, but the endeavor was in vain. His pleas to Qui-Gon and Windu and Cin and Lunar and Pen fell unanswered into darkness. It was as if they'd never existed at all, and the notion that they'd each disappeared into the immense galactic design, not to be heard from again, was almost too much to bear.

But if he had to proceed alone, do battle without aid or solace, then he would. Clenching his hands into fists, the Jedi continued down the corridor.

When he reached the door, a hand-crafted, ornate block of decaying wood lined with a variety of gems, Obi-Wan paused, drawing a serene breath. Though the specters of his fellow Jedi had not presented themselves, he took comfort in the Force, which flowed through him stronger than it had in all his life.

His hands slowly relaxed, falling to his sides.

A bead of sweat dripped off of his brow and into his eyes. It seemed as if his sickness worsened the closer he got to the Chancellor. For the first time, it occurred to him that his ailment was perhaps not a random occurrence, but his body's defense against the unnatural consolidation of the Force on Naboo. Could it be that he was truly the Chosen One? Was this fever his human physiology's reaction to an overwhelming flow of energy through him? It would make sense, especially since his condition seemed to be exacerbated by his proximity to Palpatine, through whom every mote of galactic darkness coursed.

In a sudden moment of unwanted clarity, Obi-Wan knew that he was the last hope of all things decent. If he failed, the galaxy would be plunged into darkness for some interminable time to come – centuries perhaps, maybe millenia, or even eons. The fate of trillions was in his humble hands. He'd be the savior of all, or their unwilling hangman.

His eyes hardening, the Jedi let out a long breath. He would not fail.

With a firm, flat hand, Obi-Wan pushed open the heavy door, stepping through when he heard it hit the wall.

Not but five feet from the entrance, a pair of red-clad guards reacted instantly to the intrusion, but with a casual gesture of his hand – as if the men were insects – Obi-Wan sent them both into the near wall, where they slammed with a thud before falling limply to the floor.

Two more stood on the far side of the chamber, at the foot of the steps leading up to Palpatine's throne. They rushed toward the Jedi, who strode leisurely across the gray tile as if they weren't there at all. When they came within range of him, though, clutching bayonets, Obi-Wan's hands emerged from the folds of his robes, and each man was lifted from the ground, suspended momentarily in the air before they were thrown into opposite walls.

As they dropped awkwardly to the ground, the Jedi continued across the chamber toward the Chancellor, who wore a scowl as deep as the infinite span of time, sitting back in his throne beneath a black hood. His arms rested comfortably on each side of the chair. He was clearly unalarmed.

Obi-Wan stopped confidently at the foot of the stairs, bowing his head in mock-politeness.

"Chancellor."

Palpatine smiled bitterly.

"Master Kenobi. _You survived_."

"It would appear so."

"I must say, I'm surprised it's you," the Sith assessed disparagingly. "I expected it to be someone more... exceptional."

Obi-Wan regarded him coolly.

"Likewise."

Palpatine stared into the Jedi's glazed eyes, looking into his soul, and though Obi-Wan remained entirely placid, he was struck by how disciplined the Chancellor was in his hatred, his expression full of so much loathing, and yet so calm.

The Sith stood from his throne.

"As you've no doubt surmised, my powers are far greater than yours, Master Jedi."

Obi-Wan shrugged off his cloak.

"Modesty eludes you still, I see."

Palpatine smiled patronizingly, regarding the Jedi as one might an uncomprehending child.

"As acceptance of truth does you. But that's becoming of one who serves such a pathetic cause."

"The cause of the light shall never cease," Obi-Wan replied tranquilly. "If you should cut me down today, another will rise in time to usurp your rule. The profits of evil are never lasting."

"What arrogance! Once I've destroyed you, the last of your putrid priests, I shall have dominion over space-time itself. All that which I seek to make mine will capitulate without choice. I will control every molecule in this galaxy."

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, unclipping and igniting his lightsaber.

"You'll have to start with mine."

* * *

Brummel was uncharacteristically aggressive, taking the fight to his former Master with quick, controlled swipes and lunges, using one of his lightsabers to fend off Pratt's and the other to score minor body blows. Already, the Sith's upper leg and torso were peppered with minor cuts and burns where his student had struck him. 

But duel-weapon fighting had never been a focus or strength of Brummel's, making his attacks basic and primitive on the whole, allowing Pratt to keep him from doing any damage of true consequence. Like any venerable duelist would, the dark lord remained on the defensive, waiting for his protégé to err.

The Jedi was relentless, though, in his wielding of Lunar's and Rucient's lightsabers, which he'd recognized in passing by their distinctive hilts, impressive designs indicative of their creators' considerable skills and years, lost now to the ill winds of war.

Pratt threw a quick glance over his shoulder, taking note that they weren't far from the security desk by the lobby's main entrance. Brummel was clearly trying to force him back against it to cut off his angles, but Pratt knew his student too well to be trapped so easily, and in a movement too fluid to counter, he slipped underneath Brummel's duel-blade attack, coming up on the other side of him.

In a split second, it was now the Jedi back-peddling toward the security desk, and the Sith on the offensive. Pratt took immediate advantage, landing a substantive blow to the boy's leg, knowing he'd found his mark when a strangled gasp spilled out of his opponent's mouth.

To his credit, Brummel recovered instantly, fending off his Master's follow-up thrust, which would have claimed his head if not for his quick wits. It was becoming clear, though, that their intimate knowledge of one another's abilities and tendencies favored the trainer, not the pupil.

When he felt his heels touch the security desk, an unbecoming panic rose inside the Jedi. He attempted to maneuver beneath his adversary's attack, just as Pratt had done moments earlier, but he was easily thwarted, and the Sith exploited the boy's failure to great effect, bringing his blade down hard on one of Brummel's, leveraging the boy backward until his spine was pressed awkwardly down on the desk.

Sensing imminent defeat, Brummel desperately sought an escape, his eyes whipping fervidly about until they fell on the large sliding glass entrance doors not far from him.

Pratt gritted his teeth as he forced the Jedi's blade down further, further, until it was only inches from his throat. He could almost taste the blood he'd in moments time spill. This would be over in seconds.

Brummel wound back his free arm, then hurled his second lightsaber toward the doors, drawing a startled squawk from Pratt when he heard the glass shatter, the Sith's concentration broken.

The padawan capitalized on the distraction, drilling his foe's jaw with a vile elbow that sent him reeling, then bounding toward the entrance doors. Bending down briefly to collect his lightsaber, he quickly exited before Pratt could recover, disappearing outside to regroup.

With a repugnant smile, the Sith calmly watched him go, spitting a tooth from his bleeding mouth.

"You are a nuisance, Jedi," he whispered. "And I'll torture you now for spite's sake."

* * *

Selsha reminded Padme of Yane, one of her trusted handmaidens, who despite her genuine pledge to give up her life in the senator's service, was easily rattled and given to fear. It wasn't frustrating, though, but endearing, for it was an undeniably human reaction. There was no halcyon facade, no assertion of toughness, just a sincere vulnerability that they didn't try to obscure. 

The gentle woman's voice took her out of her thoughts as they walked.

"I don't really understand where we're going," Selsha whispered. "Shouldn't we be finding a place to hide?"

Padme kept her eyes on the dark street.

"I've spent my life being hidden away while others suffered. For once, I need to walk the same line as everyone else."

Selsha frowned deeply.

"Queen Padme, that's quite a noble gesture, but it's not very practical. What is it you hope to accomplish?"

"I found you, didn't I?"

"Well... yes," the woman answered meekly, pausing a moment before adding, "So, this is like a search-and-rescue mission?"

Padme sighed. Selsha was right to question her. Though her overarching hope was to find Obi-Wan or Brummel, the odds of that happening were very much against her. Still, she couldn't help but feel there was something of value she was meant to contribute.

"Queen Padme?"

"Um, yes. Search-and-rescue. Among other things."

Selsha blanched.

"Other things?"

"I'm looking for someone in particular. Two people, as a matter of fact."

"Who?"

"Obi-Wan Kenobi and – "

Selsha's eyes brightened at the name, which she repeated wistfully under her breath. Padme gave her an amused, questioning glance. It was hard to tell in the dark, but she was sure the woman was blushing.

"He's – he's, well," Selsha stammered, "he's... very handsome."

Padme turned away innocently.

"I hadn't noticed."

As they neared an intersection of two main streets, a pair of monotonous voices could be heard just around the corner. The matching drones were painfully familiar to Padme, who grabbed her companion's arm and pulled her into a narrow space between two buildings, barely big enough to fit them both, despite their petite statures.

Selsha let out a rather loud exclamation of surprise, prompting the senator to clamp her hand over the woman's mouth, her eyes sternly warning her not to speak. With a confused, fearful nod, Selsha obliged.

The next minutes passed in tense silence as the voices grew closer and closer, and then further and further away, until they could no longer be heard at all.

Even after they were gone, the women waited quietly to be sure. When it was clear they'd not return, Padme gently guided the trembling woman out of their claustrophobic alcove, throwing a cursory glance down the street in both directions, satisfied at last that all was clear.

"Were those... soldiers?" Selsha asked, failing to suppress a mild quiver. "They sounded like the others."

Padme nodded soberly, before conjuring a tight smile.

"It might be best if we remained silent from now on."

* * *

Palpatine regarded the Jedi contemptuously, his blue optics slowly transforming into dark yellow orbs. Obi-Wan had encountered many shades of evil in his life, but he'd always thought the psyches of sentient beings too nuanced to be entirely contaminated by it. Now, though, as he looked upon the Chancellor, he realized he'd been mistaken. The man before him was evil incarnate, the sum of the Force's revolting knavery condensed into a single creature. 

The Chancellor began to descend the throne steps slowly, not at all concerned that Obi-Wan – his lightsaber lit – might move to strike him down. He would prove to be correct in that assumption, for the Jedi let him pass.

"You know," Palpatine began, moving several steps beyond him, then continuing with his back to his foe, "I once considered taking you as my apprentice. I was impressed by the manner in which you disposed of my previous one."

"I'm honored," Obi-Wan quipped.

"Naturally, it would've only been until your boy matured. You're certainly no prize when measured against the Chosen One. Of course, he proved to be a waste of my time as well. I suppose there's more to a man than his midi-chlorian count. My master might have done well to acknowledge that."

"What are you talking about?"

Palpatine smiled impishly, turning back to face him.

"Surely you must have wondered about the circumstances of Anakin's creation. You remember what his mother said, don't you? Fatherless conception is a confounding notion, is it not?"

"He was the Chosen One. Unusual circumstances were to be expected."

Palpatine looked on the Jedi with pity.

"You've still not discovered the truth of the matter, have you?" At Obi-Wan's perturbed stare, he continued. "Anakin was the creation of my mentor."

The young Master shook his head skeptically.

"That's impossible."

"He unlocked the secrets of birth and death. He could manipulate the fabric of space and time to create life."

Obi-Wan looked away, blinking repeatedly.

"You see, he wanted to create a man more powerful than he or I could ever be. By siring the Chosen One himself, he could secure the course of future events."

The Jedi's steady breaths belied his inner turmoil, the muscles in his face rippling beneath the strain.

"But the Force took great umbrage to that manipulation, and so it denied my Master the one victory he might have won long after I slew him. Despite Anakin's remarkable midi-chlorian count and the raw potential he so clearly possessed, the boy proved rather ordinary. And your teachings certainly blunted his progress further."

Obi-Wan forced his gaze to meet the Chancellor's, his eyes – though hinting at defeated tears – containing a familiar determination.

"He jilted you in your demented overtures for seven years. He was anything but ordinary."

"And yet his heart has stilled its beats, while a man – an average, unremarkable, forgettable conscript – like you stands before me. I always pictured it would be Master Windu facing me at this moment. He'd have been a worthy opponent, at least. But with you as its final surrogate, the Jedi Order will fade with a whimper into the lost annals of time."

Obi-Wan's visage was serene.

"If you continue in that manner, I may eventually take offense."

Palpatine smiled mockingly, noting the way the Jedi's hair stuck to his damp forehead.

"I will savor this moment, young Kenobi," he said, slowly raising his pale hands, "and I promise you will suffer the way your legions of comrades did... the way others will suffer after you." He paused, then showed his teeth in a hideous grin. "The way your dear senator will suffer."

Obi-Wan didn't flinch.

"You underestimate me, _my_ _King_," he spat from swollen lips. "She loves me. And that love makes me more powerful than you could possibly fathom."

Palpatine stretched his long fingers toward the Jedi, his yellow eyes expanding and retracting in long pulses, and his thin lips tensed before he finally spoke again.

"This," he thundered, "_This_... is power!"

Bright, blinding bursts of blue lightning exploded from the tips of the Chancellor's fingers, instantly illuminating the darkened room and rocking Obi-Wan back as he absorbed the energy into the like-colored blade of his lightsaber, which angled back toward him with the overwhelming force. It was as if all matter in the galaxy was being pulled helplessly toward a singular point, and though Palpatine's attack was effortless and sustainable, Obi-Wan's tenuous defense seemed unlikely to last.

* * *

A/N: Hope you enjoyed. Leave a review and let me know what you think. 


	36. Go Now, And Be What You Are

**A/N:** Salutations! Sorry that it took me so long to put out this chapter. I hope that you deem it worth the wait. I was a little concerned when I sat down to write it, as I wasn't sure I'd be able to get back into the mindset and style of the previous chapters, given the extended period of time between writing them.

We're fairly near to the end here. As threads begin to tie up, I do hope you'll be satisfied.

Thanks to all who have reviewed, and I'd love it if you would do so again. Let me know how you think this turned out.

* * *

Obi-Wan planted one foot hard into the floor a bit behind him, and the other a bit in front of him, balancing himself as best he was able as Palpatine continued his facile assault, grinning malevolently as he watched the Jedi's lightsaber bend back toward him centimeter by centimeter. This could all be over as quickly as it began.

But Obi-Wan had a contrary notion. In a swift, unexpected counter, the Jedi simply threw his weight backward instead of forward, letting himself fall to the ground and sending the Chancellor's stream of lightning harmlessly past him to the wall across the chamber.

Before Palpatine could react and adjust, Obi-Wan was on his feet again and attacking, leaving the Sith no recourse but to discontinue his preternatural strategy in favor of something more conventional; he barely drew and lit his lightsaber in time to block Obi-Wan's. Surprised by the speed of Palpatine's recovery, the Jedi was momentarily vulnerable, and the Chancellor called on the Force to send his opponent soaring through the air to the far side of the chamber, where his back struck the hard wall and he fell awkwardly to the floor.

The Sith let loose once more his mad cackle, beginning to traverse the distance between he and his enemy at an arrogant, cavalier pace.

"Can you truly provide me no challenge?" he mocked. "Meager as I knew your skills to be, I expected you'd forestall your inevitable demise."

Obi-Wan slowly peeled himself off of the floor, struggling to his knees. He could feel the pain flaring through his back, and his head swam as if consumed by vertigo, but contrary to the Chancellor's assessment, the Jedi was just getting started. He'd been through worse than this before – several times this day, in fact.

Rising to his feet again, he swayed briefly, looking at Palpatine through blurred version. Recognizing the necessity of a strategic retreat, Obi-Wan eyed the open chamber door, then jogged through it on lumbering legs, disappearing from the Chancellor's sight.

* * *

Theed was still burning, but the fires were quiet now, like they'd gobbled up all they cared to and were content now to eerily simmer. The streets were silent, no longer filled with the sounds of stragglers being hunted down and shot or soldiers marching along in rhythm. This wasn't the sound of war or peace or anything in-between; these noises – few and the same – belonged to an apocalypse puttering toward its lonely end.

The air was thick – with humidity or perhaps smoke, or maybe just ghosts – and Pratt found it a little hard to breathe, fighting the temptation to stop and fashion himself a mask, knowing that it might afford his apprentice – were he lurking in some near shadow – the opening he needed.

What a waste it was that the boy had to die. But he _did_ have to, and he deserved to. All those who refused to let truth darken their hearts would suffer an idiot's fate.

"I thought to kill you quickly before," Pratt shouted out in the empty street, stepping around some debris. "I was going to put you out of your misery. But now your misery will be my single cause. I will bring you to death's brink over and over again until you're begging to vanish into the Force. I won't let you, though. I'll reel you back and continue to punish you. I'll remind you of all of your failures, make you watch as countless suffer for the Jedi's weaknesses."

He continued forward, kicking debris, waving his lit lightsaber tauntingly in the night.

"Do you hear that, Brummel? That emptiness? That void of life? In just one day, we've taken everything there is to have. This place has been consecrated with the blood of the weak and worthless. What's left of this place will be torn asunder, and replaced with the capital of our new empire. There will be statues and buildings in my honor. Children will finally learn history as it _truly_ is. We will think people's thoughts on their behalf, decide where they'll live and who they'll love and who they'll worship. And the Jedi will fade into legend, until one day – one glorious day – even the legends will finally die. There will be no trace that you ever were."

He moved to sidestep a larger piece of rocky debris. So caught up was he in his bluster, though, that he didn't see the slight movement as he passed it. And he wasn't prepared when he felt the stone wreckage slam into his back and knock him down to his knees.

The sound of two lightsabers igniting behind him was enough to make him block out the pain, as he spun around to block the young Jedi's attack.

Though he was able to save himself from being sliced in three, he couldn't avoid the vicious boot Brummel delivered to his forehead. It knocked Pratt onto his back, his head striking the pavement where he fell. How quickly he was humbled.

But the Master's guile saved him from what seemed a certain fate. Before Brummel could deliver the killing blow, his old teacher swept his legs out from under him, so that the boy fell onto his own back, leaving them both in identical predicaments. Neither of them could gain an advantage from it, though, as they both kipped back up to their feet, their lightsabers clashing as both attempted the same attack.

Then their dance of minutes prior resumed.

* * *

Palpatine smiled thinly as he cautiously stepped through the double doors leading into the theater. On the far side of the auditorium before him, the stage was dimly aglow with holographic lightning punctuated by the sound of thunder, and a holographic image of a demonic face high above the stage. The hardwood surface was littered with mock tombstones and shrubs and other props.

Obi-Wan had clearly ventured into the control booth and turned on the audio and holograms for the play which had recently been performed here.

"Tricks will not save you, Jedi," the Sith called out, his voice echoing.

He ventured down the long ramp separating two sections of seats, his lightsaber switched off in his hand. Smoke began to gather from each side of the stage, wafting toward the middle, where the two clouds became one and obscured much of the area from the Chancellor's eyes.

At the end of the first row of seats, the ground sunk down and gave way to the orchestra pit. Palpatine carefully navigated its edges, then leapt up onto the stage, where he stood at the rim of the smoke cloud and looked through, staring hard for any sign of the Jedi. He could see nothing, though.

Confident that the trap couldn't stymie him, he began to move forward into the heart of the cloud, his throat constricting a bit as he breathed in the pillowing gas. The Force easily soothed the discomfort.

When he reached the stage's center, his eyes squinting against the irritating smoke, he heard the familiar, foreboding sound of a lightsaber igniting and saw a pale blue light through the fog. Instantly switching on his own weapon, Palpatine deflected the attack of the Jedi, who was upon him in an instant, beginning with a downward swipe, then spinning into a lunge, which the Chancellor parried with a spin of his own.

Neither man could quite make out the other through the translucent obstruction, but they didn't need their eyes to battle, using instead the sight the Force provided them.

Predictably, after the initial few exchanges, it was Palpatine who went on the offensive, driving Obi-Wan back toward stage left, where he'd initially attacked from. The pace of the duel – fast and furious, with crisp offensives and defensives – would have been to the Jedi's advantage against any other opponent on account of his youth and excellent conditioning, but against Palpatine – the dark Lord of the Sith, evil's chosen vessel – the advantage was not Obi-Wan's.

As they emerged out of the smoke, the Jedi backpedaled through a small opening in the stage curtain, Palpatine attacking him the whole way. Obi-Wan didn't need to glance over his shoulder to realize he was running out of room.

The Sith was certain he had his pray where he wanted him. But it was much to his surprise and consternation that Obi-Wan ducked a sweeping blow, then used his lightsaber to slice through the mechanism holding a series of cables in place. Before Palpatine could even discern what had happened, the Jedi grasped on to one of the released cables, which – no longer restrained by anything – shot up toward the ceiling.

Palpatine could only grunt in frustration as Obi-Wan ascended out of his reach.

As the cable reached a steel crossbeam high above, the Jedi let it go, climbing onto the beam to catch his breath.

A quick glance at his hands confirmed the source of the terrible sensation he felt; his palms had been burned raw by the cable – deep, angry red cuts at the center of each.

Glancing down briefly at Palpatine, who stared up at him with dispicable yellow eyes, Obi-Wan turned his own optics away then, and considered his next move. When he saw that the crossbeams ran across the entire length of the backstage area, he carefully pulled himself up into a crouch and began to shuffle across the length of one of the beams, disappearing from Palpatine's view.

* * *

Brummel's shortish hair, soaked with sweat, clung to his forehead in a few spots, but it thankfully wasn't long enough to fall in front of his eyes. His face was creased in concentration, creating lines and crevices that temporarily aged him.

He disengaged after blocking a thrust, spinning back behind Pratt so that the men exchanged positions. The boy's quick follow-up lunge glanced off of his mentor's elbow, eliciting a hiss of pain from the older man, who nonetheless easily recovered, blocking Brummel's next blow and using his weight advantage to shove his pupil back several feet.

Six feet separating the padawan from the Master, both paused, staring into one another's eyes, lightsabers still lit and held tightly at their sides.

Brummel looked upon this man who'd raised him almost from birth. This man who'd kept his secret from the Council for him. This man who in depraved disgrace had turned away from that which he was sworn to protect. What made a man trade his soul for glory and wealth?

"Perhaps it is I who've failed you," the boy said over the sound of a near fire, a brief, barely noticeable hint of compassion slipping into his voice. "I should have seen what was happening to you. I should have protected you from yourself."

Pratt's face twisted into a mocking, bloody grin, his mouth open so that Brummel could see the gaps between teeth; he'd apparently knocked a few of them out. The angry red welts covering the Sith's face made him appear truly monstrous, and though the padawan had never before supposed that anyone could be all evil or all good, he now felt certain as he witnessed this man before him that there _were _such things as absolute light and absolute darkness.

"Even at death's miserable precipice, your mind is muddied with naïve virtue. Do you truly believe you could have 'saved' me? Are you yet to try to redeem me now? Such an endeavor insults us both."

Brummel shook his head sadly.

"No," he said. "I've no will to salvage your soul. You've tarnished it beyond repair, Sith. You've become so addicted to darkness and hate that you've truly no notion of the emptiness within you. And that makes you too dangerous to be left to live."

It was Pratt who shook his head this time, his expression mercilessly patronizing.

"Emptiness? The absence of what _you _value is not emptiness; it provides me the freedom to finally experience what's always been there – true, pure, unlimited power."

Pratt shut his eyes, intent on proving the ambitious claim. Brummel watched him curiously, eying his battered face – tense now with concentration – and he wasn't prepared when moments later, as the Sith opened his arms, debris of all sizes from the littered street was levitated off of the ground, suspended for a few brief moments in the air before being hurled in the boy's direction.

The Jedi leapt to avoid the first few fragments, which narrowly missed the soles of his boots, but while he was in the air, a smaller piece struck him, knocking him off his course and back to the ground. As he lay there, dazed and motionless, a huge chunk of wreckage from a destroyed land-cruiser sailed toward his prone body.

As it was nearly upon him, Brummel rolled out of the way with nary a moment to spare, watching out of the corner of his eye as it collided with the pavement with a shrill shriek.

He'd no time to celebrate his survival, though, for new refuse was being sent in his direction, Pratt effortlessly maintaining the frenetic pace of his onslaught. Realizing his predicament, Brummel glanced around for some kind of cover. On the side of the street nearest him, he saw a half-mangled door leading into what looked to be a factory.

Switching off his lightsabers and rolling out of the way of another fragment of debris, the boy nimbly transitioned into a headlong dive through the opening in the doorway, emancipating himself from certain harm.

* * *

The smoke machines were evidently emptied now, and most of the fog had been sucked up by the ventilation system, leaving the stage mostly clear to the naked eye. But even from his sight line high above every other vantage point in the theater, Obi-Wan's tired eyes couldn't find Palpatine.

But he had more senses than merely sight, and that was the only thing that saved him as the Chancellor leapt from a platform in the shadows just behind him onto the same steel beam occupied by the Jedi.

Obi-Wan turned instinctively, flicking his lightsaber into the path of Palpatine's, then driving the red blade around in a full circle before the two swords separated with a soft crackle. Both followed quickly with identical swipes, the blades bouncing off of one another harmlessly.

The Chancellor went on the attack, Obi-Wan adopting a defensive posture and backpedaling, the men's exchanges a blur to them both.

Their frantic sparring continued until Obi-Wan ran out of space, the beam connecting to the wall just behind him. Once more, the Chancellor felt the battle's end upon him, but to his consternation yet again, the Jedi back-flipped away from his opponent's swinging blade, landing gracefully on the floor below.

Palpatine quickly dropped down off of the beam in pursuit, landing with the same fluidity as the Jedi. But Obi-Wan had the tactical advantage, kicking the Sith's lightsaber out of his hand as soon he'd reached the floor. It clattered to the wooden surface, switching off and rolling away.

As Obi-Wan wound his arm back to deliver a mortal wound, though, Palpatine's hand shot up in front of him, the dark lord using his deranged mastery of the Force to exert pressure on the Jedi's larynx, choking him.

Obi-Wan rocked back, his weapon falling to his side as he desperately raised his other hand to his neck, as if he could somehow relieve the pressure. But with each passing second, as he clawed at his own throat, he could feel the air being taken from him – stolen – and his head began to feel lighter and lighter, confusion setting in as his brain was robbed of life.

He rolled his head to the left, then the right, looking for anything to break Palpatine's concentration.

Just behind him to his right side sat a small container of bluish-green liquid on a table. Even in his stupor, he recognized it from his backstage tour with Padme all those years ago; it was a cleaning fluid used to sanitize props. As he recalled, though, it was highly corrosive to anything organic.

With mere moments to act before the black haze overtook him, Obi-Wan fumbled manically to grasp the container with an unsteady hand. And as soon as he had it in his white-knuckled grip, he pulled it off of the table and wildly emptied its contents in the Chancellor's direction.

Palpatine let loose an excruciatingly pained howl as the acidic liquid splashed in his face. His skin began to bubble up immediately, the pale epidermis corroding and burning and melting, and his eyes were squeezed shut against the unimaginable agony.

Obi-Wan, sparing no time to catch his breath, raised his lightsaber to end the battle.

But the Chancellor – even amidst his anguish – was too resourceful to be disposed of. Before the Jedi could strike him down, Palpatine communed with the Force, influencing it to send Obi-Wan sailing through the air, all the way off of the stage and down into the first row of seats, where he caromed off of one of the hard chairs and fell ten feet down into the orchestra pit, his lightsaber switching off as he landed with a putrid thud.

* * *

Padme held her arm out to stop Selsha from moving past her, drawing an inquisitive look from the frightenable young woman.

"What is it?" Selsha asked, her eyes darting about wildly to check for potential danger. "Do you see something?"

The senator paused before responding, her lips pursed as if she were remembering something. But that wasn't the case at all. This feeling she had – this vision in her mind's eye – was grounded very much in the present, and she could only suppose that the Force was speaking to her.

"Not see," Padme replied quietly. "Feel."

"Feel? What do you feel?"

"He needs our help. And we're not far from him."

"Who?"

* * *

Obi-Wan climbed out of the orchestra pit, finding it harder than he should have to pull himself up. He didn't have time to nurse his wounds or rest, though, for he could sense that Palpatine – a man of considerable, if pernicious, resolve – had already gathered himself and was calmly crossing the length of the stage.

The Jedi turned on his knees to face away from the seats, looking upon Palpatine's mangled face as the Chancellor neared the stage's edge. It was difficult not to look away; the Sith's face looked like a rocky protrusion overwhelmed by some flow of magma. His eyes sunk deep back into his head, his forehead and cheeks a disgusting confection of red and white, the top layer of skin completely gone so that his visage appeared to be that of a half-skinned animal carcass.

"I will see you burn in the Force's darkest depths," Palpatine spat painfully through burned lips, his voice distorted. "And your dear senator will suffer for your deeds. She will be tortured, violated, killed – only to be revived again and again..."

Obi-Wan stood, reigniting his lightsaber.

"At last your face does justice to your thoughts," he quipped.

With an angry, echoing growl, Palpatine stretched out his free hand, commanding the Force once more to do his bidding. Obi-Wan barely reacted in time as the Sith ripped an entire row of chairs out of the floor, launching them in the Jedi's direction.

Ducking underneath the first few, then leaping above the next batch, Obi-Wan landed in the middle of the aisle separating two sections of seats. Palpatine tore up another row, sending them at his reviled enemy in a steady stream. This time, Obi-Wan didn't avoid them, chopping them apart with inhumanly fast strokes of his lightsaber.

When the last chair was halved by the Jedi, Palpatine let out a low, dissatisfied grunt, then surprised his opponent by stretching his hand up toward the ceiling and – with but a single thought – tearing down a light fixture from its bolted perch. Obi-Wan slammed hard into the ground as it came down on top of him.

His head, which struck the floor for the umpteenth time that day, seemed to vibrate as the engine of a ship might. He felt bone-weary and weak, helpless beneath the weight of fate and his body's limitations. It struck him with new clarity that this was how it all might end.

Palpatine's demoniacal laugh resounded throughout the theater.

But Obi-Wan shrugged the light fixture off of him. And just as he always did, he began to get up.

* * *

Padme navigated her way through all the wreckage and carnage of the darkened street, blindly following her stubborn sense that the Force was taking her somewhere. With each clumsy step, she felt herself getting closer.

Selsha could hardly keep up, and she certainly wasn't quiet about it, grunting and groaning each time her shins bumped another scrap of metal. She wasn't certain she trusted or put much stock in this "feeling" the former queen had, but that wasn't of particular consequence. She'd follow this woman to Naboo's end and back, and she'd do whatever bidding it was the woman asked.

Padme's instincts drew her to the tattered frame of an old factory, and over the simmering of nearby fires, she could make out within the building the familiar sounds of an epic struggle. It was just as she'd felt. She'd been led by the nose to this battle by some unknown voice within the Force's infinite panorama. And she intended to do her part.

"It's him," she said, turning back to Selsha. "He's here."

The timid woman looked predictably uncomfortable, but true to her internal declaration to do whatever was required of her, Selsha let out a shaky breath and nodded.

Padme lifted her blaster, turning back to continue toward the door. When she was right up next to it, she glanced at Selsha.

"Try to stay behind me," she said.

With a weak smile that didn't reassure either of them, Padme peered through the door caustically, surprised when she did to see the place dimly lit. Unlike a lot of other buildings, the interior of the factory was intact. Subsequently, the emergency lights were still burning strong.

In the relative illumination, she could make out – atop a long scaffold – two shadows and rapid bursts of orange, green, and red light from the weapons they were wielding.

With steadfast resolve, sensing that her friend was in imminent need of her, Padme climbed through the broken door, Selsha right behind her.

Neither woman could recall what it was that was produced here, but it must have been an ominous and foreboding workplace. Thirty feet or so from the entrance was some grizzly machine – a triangular arrangement of three large saws, big enough to swallow and shred a man's body. Just behind it was a large receptacle of some sort, likely an enormous waste bin for whatever garbage or excess material the factory owners broke down and disposed of.

Ten feet past the machine to the right, a long ladder led up to the scaffold overlooking the entire factory. Standing upon the raised walkway now were Brummel and a man Padme didn't immediately recognize, locked in an even duel.

She took off in a trot toward the ladder, not certain what it was she planned to do, but feeling an irrational need to act. It never occurred to her that she might be a hindrance. But she was soon, sadly, to discover the possibility.

As she neared the bottom of the ladder, Selsha in tow, the two combatants finally took notice of their battle's intruders, Brummel – he the one whose back was to the ladies – glanced over his shoulder when he heard them down below.

Pratt took full advantage, kicking the boy in the stomach, knocking him to the metal floor of the scaffold. Just as quickly, before the air-deprived Jedi could think to defend himself, the Sith kicked one of the lightsabers from his hand. The green blade disappeared as the hilt rolled off of the scaffold and fell all the way to the ground down below.

Only now, as the Master stepped from the shadows to stand at Brummel's feet, did Padme recognize him. Her heart sank with confusion and sadness and disbelief when she realized that the man accosting her friend was his teacher, believed dead during the course of the day's events.

"No," she whispered. "Not you."

Her words weren't audible to the ears of the common man, but somehow the dark lord heard them up above.

Pratt delivered a brutal kick to the boy's ribs, then stepped on his wrist – pinning the arm which still held a lightsaber down to the metal floor – before finally looking back down at Padme below.

"Hello, Senator," he called out calmly, smiling politely as he had when she'd first met him. "It pleases me you're present for this. I was rather hoping to make you suffer with him in tandem."

Brummel coughed, spitting up a bit of blood from the blow he'd taken moments prior. He almost choked on it before he could get it out. Down at the bottom, Padme's eyes welled with tears at the horrible sound.

"Let him go!" she shouted, her voice stronger and truer than she felt on the inside.

Pratt's wicked grin induced a shudder in her.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Senator. You see, I made the boy a promise. I vowed to torture him in ways which elude comprehension." He regarded her innocently. "And like any man, my word is my bond."

Something about his condescending expression was too much for Padme to bear, and without thinking the matter through, she lifted her blaster and fired at the loathsome man.

But much to the senator's horror, Pratt casually deflected the bolt with a graceful swipe of his blade, sending it shooting back in the women's direction, watching gleefully as it grazed Selsha's arm and drew a high-pitched shriek of pain and shock from her.

Padme quickly reached out to steady her, pulling the woman behind her as she trembled.

The Sith's disgusting grin widened.

"Brave, but foolish, as you just saw," he said. "You are feeble, Senator. Enervated by your infirmities and by your virtue. Just like the boy here."

Brummel writhed on the metal surface weakly, his eyes half-closed as blood trickled from his mouth.

"Just leave him alone!" Padme shouted. "Is there no decent molecule within you? Why are you doing this? How can you turn on your own son?"

Pratt's voice, which had sounded amused to that point in his own perverse way, darkened further as it turned toward anger.

"Do not lecture me about my nature. You of all people. _You_, the very person who sought and were granted Chancellor Palpatine's election. You stand there and judge me for decisions I had occasion to make _only_ because of the choice you made for your planet's selfish cause! Do you not realize that all of this –" He gestured around him, then down at Brummel. "– is expressly your doing?"

Padme flinched noticeably, though she tried to hide it. The man before her, though evil, was not without the ability to utter truth. He was right. If she'd not been complicit in Palpatine's ascension to power, this war would have never been waged. That dear boy above, who she loved and cherished as a friend, would not be lying there at the mercy of a Sith.

But none of that mattered now. Those were musings for some distant future moment.

"Whatever my mistakes, they were made with a clear conscience. Not like yours."

Pratt grinned again.

"My life's only mistake was taking so long to become the thing I am."

"And what is it you think you are?"

The Sith raised his lightsaber in the air, grasping it so that his hands were clutching the hilt one over the other, and the blade was pointed down at Brummel.

"I am the monster that haunts children's dreams."

Padme let out a horrified scream as Pratt drove his weapon down, intent on spearing it into the boy's chest.

Brummel surprised them both, though, rolling to his side so that the red blade missed him, instead piercing through the metal floor, where it became lodged. Taking advantage of the moment, he delivered a hard elbow into the knee of the leg Pratt was pressing down on his wrist.

The Sith stumbled, falling back onto his rear, his lightsaber still planted into the scaffold floor.

Brummel used the railing to pull himself up, his own lightsaber still lit and in his hand. Still weak and disoriented, he nonetheless staggered toward his fallen adversary, then – with all the power he could muster from his from his battered core – swung his weapon down at the man.

But yet again, Pratt proved too clever. Brummel's second lightsaber, forgotten down below, soared from the ground at the Sith's call. Switching it on in a split second, Pratt raised the green blade and blocked his pupil's attack.

The boy, debilitated and poorly balanced, lurched back wildly as Pratt delivered another kick to his ribs, Brummel this time flipping back over the scaffold railing and falling all the way to the ground below, where he landed in an ugly heap, his arm twisted below him awkwardly.

Padme was certain he was dead when she saw him hit the concrete.

"_No_!"

She rushed to cross the distance that separated them, but before she'd even made it halfway, Pratt leapt down from the scaffold to the floor below, blocking the way. Shuffling back, she raised her blaster in futile defense, careening back toward Selsha.

The Sith raised his green blade tauntingly, walking slowly toward Padme as she continued backwards.

As she looked on this man, bloodied and bruised and cut and scraped and swelling all over – but still smiling in a depraved trance – she realized that he truly _was_ a monster, an irredeemable beast come to do harm to the innocent. There was nothing in this Sith for a rational person to appeal to.

"You're right about what you are," Padme said quietly, continuing back until she was beside Selsha. "You're the thing we're warned about as children, that as adults we stop believing in. You're a creature from a storybook."

Pratt waved the lightsaber in front of the women, sweeping it right in front of their necks teasingly, but not touching them.

"Yes, I am," he whispered, leaning close enough that Padme could feel his breath on her. "And now it's time for the story to end."

The Sith pulled back to do the sinful deed, but was startled by a loud noise behind him. He spun around to find the source of the sound, and saw that the waste-shredder had been turned on, its three enormous saw blades spinning.

Then his eyes fell on Brummel, the boy up on one knee beside the machine control panel. In his state, he didn't appear to be much of a threat, but all he'd really sought to do was distract his old teacher.

Pratt realized as much, spinning back toward the woman. He managed to knock Padme's blaster from her hands before she could fire, but Selsha got off a clean shot. The blast hit Pratt in the chest pointblank, knocking him off of his feet in an instant, his lightsaber flying from his grasp and out of sight.

And then – for a long, long moment – everything was still. Selsha was frozen in her shooting pose, scarcely believing what she'd done. Padme appeared stunned beside her as she looked at her companion, then down at Pratt's unmoving body, his chest charred and opened up by the vicious shot he'd taken.

Neither woman moved an inch, as if afraid it might shatter the peace. The only sound for a brief time was their ragged breathing and the spinning of the machine's saws.

It was Brummel who corrupted the prolonged stillness, using the machine to pull himself to his feet with an agonized grunt. His pained utterance finally spurred the women to move. Stepping around Pratt's body, they moved swiftly to assist the Jedi, catching him as he stepped away from the machine and faltered.

"Brummel," the senator whispered, laying her hand on his head. "Oh, Brummel. Are you okay? Are you all right?"

The boy coughed and wheezed, his breaths coming out like pants.

"It's all right. You're going to be okay now. We've got you."

All he could manage was a nod, leaning on both of them heavily to keep himself upright. He glanced over at Pratt's body, one of the Sith's legs tucked unnaturally beneath his rear. It looked strange, inelegant. And as much as the dark lord deserved an undignified rest, the boy felt a strange tug at his heart seeing his teacher lying like that.

Padme seemed to sense the pain of the observation.

"There was nothing you could do," she told her friend hoarsely. "It's not your fault. Evil's a person's choice, and from there there's no going back."

Brummel nodded mutely, though it was clear he had his doubts still.

Padme and Selsha pulled him along past the machine, their limbs tired and struggling with his weight. They were about to set him down gently for a moment, so they could find a more comfortable way to carry him.

But they ended up dropping him abruptly, looking up with terror as Pratt – left in no uncertain terms for dead moments earlier – staggered in their direction like some mythical demon from the darkest folklore.

Padme's and Selsha's blasters had – in their emotion and confusion and desire to help Brummel – been left on the ground several feet from where they were. The senator bravely swung her fist at the zombie-like Sith, but he deflected the blow easily, then back-handed her across the face, knocking her to the floor.

Selsha recoiled from the man with a terrified scream, clawing at him desperately as he grasped for her. But there wasn't a thing she could do to stop him when he grabbed her around the throat and snapped her neck, dropping her lifeless body to the floor.

The frightened woman disposed of, and Padme on the floor disoriented, Pratt grabbed Brummel by the front of his dirty tunic, looking hard into the boy's glazed eyes.

"I told you how it would be, boy," he whispered, his voice sounding so deep and strangled that neither of them recognized it. "I will haunt you until the end of time."

Brummel's head bobbed for a moment, as if he wouldn't offer resistance, but his eyes cleared when he looked back at the Sith, full of resolve and strength and – perhaps surprisingly – pity.

"Emptiness is in your blood," the Jedi croaked. "And it's yours to have forever now."

He grasped Pratt by both arms, ignoring his own separated shoulder, and with the last burst of strength possessed by his young body, he lifted the Sith in the air and crudely tossed him into the machine's spinning blades, turning away as his mentor's body was ripped apart and deposited into the waste receptacle.

Then he collapsed at last to the ground.

* * *

Obi-Wan could barely follow Palpatine with his eyes, the Chancellor a blur as he back-flipped and front-flipped in a place a myriad of times, trying to gain a positional advantage over the Jedi. But though the young Master's focus was strained and tested, he stood his ground ably and thwarted the Sith's every strike.

Dissatisfied with his failed strategy, Palpatine leapt up and away from the Jedi, skying until he landed atop the facade of the balcony. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth and – with a running head start – bounded up to follow him.

As the Jedi was most vulnerable, in mid-air, Palpatine wound his arm back and tossed his lit lightsaber at Obi-Wan, who with but an instant to spare raised his own lightsaber to block it, his blue blade swatting away the Sith's red one, which landed in the darkness of the seats below and switched off, disappearing.

The Jedi landed on the balcony facade across from Palpatine, but as he dropped into a fighting stance, the Chancellor unleashed a stream of lightning at Obi-Wan's hand, knocking loose the Master's lightsaber, which suffered the same fate as Palpatine's – vanishing into the void down below.

Obi-Wan froze, his dismay plain. He was scarcely Palpatine's equal in a duel of blades, but in any other contest, he was so much the Sith's inferior that he'd no notion of how to defeat him.

"And now," the Chancellor growled, "history names its King."

Palpatine stretched out both hands, gritting his teeth as his fingertips once more spat lightning. Obi-Wan, shutting his eyes – his facial muscles trembling as he entered a deep Force trance – extended his palms outward to block the bright chains of energy. It was a task more difficult than any of his life's previous undertakings. Though none of the lightning touched his body, he nonetheless felt as if his every inch were burning.

In the battle of wills, Palpatine's early advantage was clear, Obi-Wan's hands being pushed back toward his chest a millimeter at a time. The Force flowed through the Sith with overwhelming, empowering intensity, as if the blood of every dark lord who came before him were coursing through his engorged veins. It felt like he could swallow the universe in a single bite, tear apart time and space and rearrange it as his leisure.

Obi-Wan's link to the Force was more tenuous, less assured. His command of it was his salvation presently, the only thing sustaining his defense, but his calls to Qui-Gon and Cin and Windu and Anakin went unanswered, their strength not available to him. He desperately needed help – needed some presence or power to buttress his own.

The Jedi was weakening, his hands bending back toward him faster now.

Could it all end here? After all he'd endured, could his failure in this moment be the catalyst for a terrible age of darkness?

He began to see craven images in his mind's eye.

He saw Palpatine, with an evil smile on his disfigured face, wandering through the halls of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, a band of clones following after him and indiscriminately laying waste to thousands of years of history.

He saw Palpatine in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, the water turned to fire. There were boys with him – teenagers and young adults – Sith recruits probably.

He saw Brummel in the middle of a city square in Coruscant, on his knees in restraints. One of the Sith recruits – his face hidden behind a black hood – calmly walked up behind the boy and severed his head with a lightsaber.

He saw clone troopers marching through the dusty streets of Tatooine, between the beautifully-constructed buildings of Taris, and along the exterior of Kamino.

He saw Padme, dark circles beneath sad eyes, trapped behind an energy field in a detention center. She looked miserable and broken and alone. So, so alone.

And then he felt it.

First, it was just a trickle, like water dripping from a leaf after a rainstorm. Then it was was a modest stream. And then, at long, long last, the feeling began to pour over him.

Love. Padme's love. It swept him up and enveloped him, so that there wasn't a single part of him untouched by its humble power.

Obi-Wan's eyes snapped open, narrowing as they looked back at the arrogant Chancellor, and to Palpatine's great surprise, the Jedi's hands weren't bending back toward him any more, but were pressing forward now, emitting their own Force energy that served to counter the dark lord's lightning.

The energy came out as a solid white light that starkly contrasted the blue bolts it was contending against. The more the competing energies clashed, the brighter their respective colors became and the bigger they got in scope.

Both men had to avert their eyes eventually, the energies blinding, and Palpatine's lightning crackled infinitely louder than the thunder coming from the theater's speakers, Obi-Wan's white burst punctuated by a painful screak that threatened to perforate the men's eardrums.

The energies continued to build, build, build, and expand, until they became more powerful than either combatant could control.

Both streams exploded, Obi-Wan sent rocketing sideways into the third row of seats in the balcony, and Palpatine thrown backward into the wall, where he slid down and crumpled to the ground in front of the first row.

The Jedi lay there unmoving, his ears ringing painfully, the world seeming almost not to be there, as if he'd departed it and was waiting to enter the next realm. All he could see behind his closed eyelids was an unending white palette. But pain. He could feel the pain in his mortal body, coming at him in wave after wave of brutal anguish. Everything hurt.

Then the white vanished, replaced once more by images.

These images, though, unlike the last, were pleasant, affirming.

He saw children running through the streets of Theed, which was fully rebuilt and once more full of life.

He saw younglings meditating in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, full and flowing with cool, clear water.

He saw the sun setting above Coruscant, Padme beside him in a long white dress that looked so pure, it couldn't be real. But it felt real. It _felt_ so real.

The image burned away like a cherished photograph lost in a house fire, and his eyes slid open to reveal the dastardly visage of Palpatine, who stood over him with dark yellow eyes that could swallow the stars.

Obi-Wan grunted as Palpatine slapped him across the face mockingly.

"Look at you," the Chancellor ground out, his voice sounding inhuman. "You've fought and sacrificed and bled, all for _nothing_. Your boy, your mentors, your friends. All gone. And now the blandness of your skills has been proven. Your ordinary nature has been exposed. I've stripped you of everything you have and are, and now I'll cast you into darkness."

The Jedi shook his head, his vision blurred, and he whispered something that sounded like gibberish.

"Last words?" Palpatine ridiculed. "Have you a message for your love? A pathetic apology?"

Again, Obi-Wan whispered something, but it failed once more to reach the dark lord's ears.

With great amusement, and perhaps some curiosity, Palpatine knelt down beside the young Master, leaning in and turning his ear toward the injured man's mouth.

The words, so brief and soft, would echo in eternity.

"Go now, and be what you are."

Palpatine turned his back to look into the Jedi's eyes, and it was with terror and rage that his own optics widened, as Obi-Wan – pressing against the side of Palpatine's neck the second lightsaber given to him by Lacian, the one that had been clipped to the back of his belt through this entire battle – switched on the Ancient weapon.

As the green blade ignited and passed through Palpatine's throat left to right, the Chancellor let out what would have been a scream, if not for the torn vocal chords that failed to emit the sound.

Obi-Wan dropped his hand, but left the lightsaber where it was, and he could only watch in disgust and relief as Palpatine staggered back, trying desperately to grasp on to one of the chairs and stand.

He managed to do so, but as soon as he'd reached his feet, his eyes – those glowing yellow orbs – took on the color of fire, until eventually true fire did spring from them. And over the course of no more than two or three seconds, that fire seemed to grow and surround and imbibe him.

Obi-Wan watched in utter amazement from his back as the fire-engulfed body was itself encompassed by a brilliant white light.

That light spread out throughout the theater in a matter of moments, then shot up toward the ceiling, ripping the roof off of the theater so that Obi-Wan was looking up into the night sky.

Then the black canvas sucked up the white entity, Palpatine with it, and everything – _everything –_ was quiet.


	37. The Vanquished and the Saved

**A/N:** Hello! So, we see another thread resolved in this chapter, and I think and hope that it doesn't feel "false." We are very near to the end of this story (wow, hard to believe, right?). There's only one or two chapters to go after this one.

As always, I greatly appreciate feedback. Please let me know what you think by hitting that 'review' button. Thanks!

* * *

It was as eerie a vanishing as ever was. You could call it divine intervention or the Force's mercy, or maybe just one of those things a deaf universe does from time to time; historians would later posit such theories. But whatever one chose to call it, the reality was the same for all.

All across this crippled world, with huddled masses clinging to one another like only tragic strangers could, in all the dark and lit and dying corners, every solitary member of the Chancellor's preprogrammed army turned in a blink to so much dust and scattered into the black abyss.

Shuddering women and whimpering children and petrified men were throughout Naboo in disbelief as their captors and torturers and executioners were wiped from the face of the planet in some sort of mass cremation. And these poor innocent souls, whose safety was suddenly and surprisingly secure, hadn't words or emotions or actions to properly convey their relief and confusion.

Weapons and gear lay unhandled in streets and across countrysides, harmless trinkets now without automatons to wield them. In orbit above the planet, most of the ships in the enormous Sith fleet drifted idly, many of them unmanned now that the clones were gone. Those controlled at least in part by living, breathing, unique beings – all loyal to Palpatine's cause – didn't know how to proceed. Some simply maintained their positions; others fled, as if somehow they grasped the grim reality of their new circumstance.

There were scattered swaths of Palpatine's uncloned soldiers on the surface too, but they were mostly advisors or bureaucrats or young recruits with flaccid loyalties. The Naboo survivors – the militia and townspeople, armed with whatever they could find – were putting Palpatine's soldiers down like dogs, not even sparing the freshest-faced of them. Some of the Chancellor's men shed themselves of their uniforms and tried to obscure their identities. No doubt some were successful, convincingly misrepresenting their allegiances. Those conniving, fortunate few might even hailed as heroes, and for the rest of their lives, the secret would be none but theirs.

As the sun began to rise over Theed and usher in a new day, Padme crudely dragged Brummel along, the boy nearly dead weight now against her slight body. He was conscious, but hardly lucid and barely breathing, spitting up blood routinely as they moved. His injuries were severe, and likely fatal if she didn't reach the Healer's Clinic shortly. But as he got heavier and heavier, the health center felt further and further away, and even if she were to get him there alive, her knowledge of medicine was utterly disproportionate to the care he needed.

"Almost there," she lied, digging her nails into his tender ribs to keep hold of him. "Little bit further now."

Brummel felt like he was free-falling into something cold and soft. It was the same rush of disconnected sensation he'd felt when the Jedi Council first probed his mind during his Force sensitivity testing as a toddler. His unkempt mind tossed about the same jagged thought it had on that other fateful day: what's to become of me?

There came a time, of course, when Padme could carry him no further, her muscles atrophying beneath the strain, and she none too gently dropped him onto the pavement, cringing as she heard a quiet thud.

She collapsed herself a moment later in an undignified heap, panting as she lay down on her side, feeling the aches and pains and bruises and cuts she'd forced aside for her friend's sake become horribly apparent to her now that she'd stopped moving.

It was a terrible thing, physical exhaustion, especially when its cost was known to you. Brummel lay on the street beside her, his barely audible and shallow breaths the only indication that he still did live.

But Padme could almost feel the life leaving him, as if it were a palpable thing that could slide along her skin. The potency of the sensation gave her the strength she needed to at least turn onto her side to regard him. He appeared so pale. So beaten. And as she looked upon his closed eyelids, she realized then that he was truly going to die.

Maybe he was meant to, if the Force truly did work in that way. She'd seen the unbridled hurt in his eyes when she'd tried to tell him about Sabe. It made it worse somehow that he'd already known. And without her – this woman he barely knew, yet genuinely and sincerely loved in a way which eluded reason – she wondered if he had the will to grasp on to the flicker of life within him.

She reached out to him, the backs of her fingers grazing his face.

"I'm sorry, my friend," she whispered.

And then the last breath left him.

Padme shut her eyes as the realization swept over her, fighting not to conjure the tears her disturbed heart sought to. Everything in the universe was broken, and mending was a capacity beyond her.

She stayed like that briefly – maybe a minute, but surely no longer – before she heard the sound of boots on glass. The crunching of the shards was enough to draw open her eyes.

It surprised her what she saw. It wasn't a clone or a Sith or anyone come bearing hurt or harm; it wasn't even a hero of the Republic, come upon her in this vulnerable state. It was a little boy, about ten years old. He looked down at her with kind eyes that hinted at some kind confusion. It was as if he expected something of her, but didn't know what.

"Hello," Lacian said quietly, his voice tentative, but steady.

Padme couldn't summon any speech of her own in reply. She just looked back at him inquisitively.

"I think I can help your friend," the boy told her, looking down at Brummel's stiff body. "I ought to do it now before it's too late."

She watched, indulging some morbid whimsy as he knelt down beside the Jedi, moved for some reason not to explain to him that the man was dead. But she couldn't help uttering the obvious query.

"What are you doing?"

The boy didn't look at her, running his hand over Brummel's chest until he found his heart.

"I'm not sure," Lacian replied distantly. "But I know I'm supposed to do it."

He spread his small fingers as far as he was able, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. Padme watched him uncomfortably, her curiosity pitted against her skepticism. What was it he thought he was doing?

She inaudibly gasped a moment later when a pale blue light began to spread out from beneath his hand like blood might from a pressured wound. It seemed to expand, grow, first diffusing through Brummel's chest and stomach, then up through his neck and down past his waist into his legs.

Then the Jedi's body – his _dead_ body, she'd been certain – began to spasm and jerk as if in seizure, the blue light rising from him in a mist. She should have been used to supernatural acts, especially after the wielding of the Force she'd witnessed this day, but nothing could have prepared her for what she was witnessing, or what she would witness a moment later.

Brummel's eyes shot open and he sucked in a long, wild breath as if his mouth were emerging above the ocean, his head snapping about frantically and with much confusion. In the Jedi's fervor, Lacian tumbled back onto his rear.

Padme looked in disbelief from her friend to the boy, her mind asserting with force that her eyes were deceiving it. How could it be? What had just happened? He was dead, and now he's alive. He'd been on the other side, and now here he was on hers.

"Brummel?" she whispered tentatively, adrenaline pulling her to her knees. "Are you? You're – I thought you were..."

The Jedi didn't look at her for a moment, not seeming to hear the words, and she briefly feared that despite his physical resurrection, his mind might be lost to her. But by some unknown grace, he soon enough would quell her troubled musings.

He struggled to sit up, looking at the boy, then back at her.

"I was in another place," he said, his voice raw and quiet. "Somewhere not at all like here."

Padme ignored the substance of the words, ecstatic only that he'd spoken them.

"You're alive," she said, raising her heavy arms to embrace him. She didn't care that he reacted rigidly, holding him tight against her. "You're _alive_."

Lacian watched the pair calmly, no notion at all of what he'd done. There'd simply been a whisper in his mind, asking that he give of himself to the universe. And he'd obliged it.

He was exhausted by the effort, though. His duty done, he laid down on the ground as if it were boxspring and mattress, and quickly fell into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

Obi-Wan was surprised to see the clones he'd killed outside the theater were gone, no trace of their blood or flesh, but their weapons and armor left behind. What sense was there to moving the bodies, but leaving behind their gear?

He thought about what the Force had made plain to him earlier: this war would be decided by two men. And as he stumbled down the steps and out into the street, he thought maybe it had been. Palpatine seemed to have been torn through space and time as he exited the corporeal world. Had his pitiful slaves been ripped away with him?

Though weary and weak and ready to collapse, one thing was clear to him: his fever had finally broken. The overwhelming pressure of the Force on his mortal body had abated, leaving behind a kind of spiritual balm that cooled the places which once had burned. He'd done its deed, and it was in his debt.

If the clones had truly been cast back into darkness, then the war was won. Surely there were other soldiers loyal to Palpatine, a significant number even, but they would still be outnumbered by the survivors loyal to the Republic. Many of the traitors would be hunted and killed. The ones who were spared would stand trial. And, as always in such matters, some would escape and live lonely lives of personal dishonesty, minimizing their role in what transpired, so that they might find a way to grow old in their own skin.

He ambled down the street, his own lightsaber still cynically drawn, Drallig's and Palpatine's dangling from his belt.

Some of the fires had died, and the ones still burning didn't look as foreboding in early morning. The sun had a way of making things better.

One of Palpatine's soldiers, a Twi'ilek, darted out from an alleyway into the street, spinning wildly to look back behind him before continuing across. He didn't notice Obi-Wan and kept running. The Jedi thought about how pathetic it was, the speed at which a man was humbled. He let the soldier carry on out of sight, unmoved to pursue him. He was done killing today.

Periodically in his journey, he stopped when he came upon stragglers. He explained to them that the worst was over, but to take care in what they did until the matter was fully resolved. Most of them seemed to know that the victory – if you dared to call this carnage that – was owed to Obi-Wan. They thanked him accordingly, some of them bawling. He politely accepted before moving on.

He was finally passing out of the entertainment district when, through the Force, he sensed something truly wonderful. The tailor's shop where he met Lacian was almost visible in the distance, and he felt a distinct buzz of life emanating from it.

Padme's love washed over him like a wave does a swimmer, pervasively soaking his mind and body, and though his legs were already threatening to buckle, he quickened his pace in his fervid desire – no, _need –_ to look on her face again.

Brummel put his hands to Lacian's neck, feeling for a pulse.

"He's fine," he assured the senator wearily. "Just asleep."

"Whatever he did took all he had."

"He drew on the Force. Brought me back from the netherworld."

Padme wrinkled her forehead.

"The Force? But he's just a boy."

Brummel would have shrugged if he had the energy.

"Every man was a boy once. I suppose some are simply born wise."

Padme nodded, sitting quietly a moment before she was struck by a sudden surge of paranoia.

"We shouldn't be out here like this," she said gravely. "In the open."

The Jedi seemed to ponder the assertion briefly, his eyes distant, but then he shook his head.

"No. It's all right now, I think."

"What do you mean?"

"I sense something has shifted, been resolved. In fact..."

Brummel's tired head snapped away from Padme to look down the other end of the street, and just as his senses had suggested to him, he could see a familiar outline approaching, a man shrouded in a Jedi tunic and cloak, limping along as fast as he could move.

"Padme..." the padawan muttered.

The senator turned, following his line of sight until her own eyes fell on the hobbling Jedi, close enough now that she was completely, unequivocally certain that it was _her_ Jedi. Hers. Here.

It took every muscle in her body to stand, and she was certain she pulled a few of them in the process, but it couldn't have mattered less to her as she took off in an unsteady trot, looking mildly ridiculous as her cramped legs forced her to take short strides that belonged more to a child than to a woman.

Her heart pounded in her chest until she was certain it would burst right through and drop. Him. Him. His face was so clear to her now, tired and lacerated and pained, but just so beautiful to her. So perfect.

They reached out for one another simultaneously, crushing each other in a desperate embrace, and the force of their collision knocked them both from their feet to their knees.

"Obi-Wan," she breathed, tears pricking at her eyes. "Obi-Wan... Obi-Wan..."

The Jedi's arms tightened around her as he lay his aching head on her shoulder, taking a deep breath as if he could somehow inhale her. She was dirty and exhausted and stained with the blood of others, but so full of life and goodness and so much the opposite of everything he'd just felt in Palpatine that it was almost overwhelming to touch her.

"Oh, Padme," he whispered hoarsely. "I love you..."

They stayed like that for at least a minute, just clutching one another to confirm they each were real. But then the Jedi pulled back, and Padme reluctantly let him. He glanced over her shoulder at Brummel, his friend smiling back weakly, sadly.

Obi-Wan returned his eyes to Padme, whose own optics were full of hope.

"The Chancellor. Is he...?"

He nodded, touching her face with a grimy hand.

"Gone. Gone into darkness."

"But what about the clones? There's still so many..."

He shook his head, smiling gently.

"Sent back from whence they came."

"How?"

"They were connected to him, I think. They were a _part_ of him. When the Force took him, it took all that he created too."

She reached out for him once more, leaning into another embrace, resting her head against his heart as his arms closed around her, carefully this time, not forcefully like before. He glanced back at Brummel again as he held her, noticing Lacian for the first time, as his friend pulled the prone child into his lap.

"Lacian..."

Padme pulled back again, glancing over her shoulder to find Brummel holding the boy.

"You know him?"

"Yes," he said, smiling softly as he looked down at Drallig's lightsaber, clipped to his belt. "You could say he saved my life."

"It seems he's been doing a lot of that today."

Obi-Wan didn't know what she meant by that, but somehow the details didn't seem pertinent. They'd have only intruded on a lovely moment.

He moved to stand up, finding it incredibly difficult. Padme's effort was just as strained. Neither could manage it on their own, but each used the other for support, and together they managed to rise, holding on to each other the whole way as they clumsily moved toward Brummel, who was still sitting on the pavement with Lacian.

The younger Jedi, who'd been staring down at the boy, looked up as Obi-Wan and Padme came to stand beside him.

"It does my heart great good to see you."

"Hello, old boy," Brummel greeted quietly, a melancholy smile on his lips.

Obi-Wan knew in part about the darkness that lurked behind that smile. Sabe's death no doubt tore at his friend's core in a way he couldn't fathom. But there was something else there too. He thought he might know what it was.

"After the raid on the Com Center, I had a vision of you and Master Saduj. Is he... did he not...?"

Brummel's jaw tightened.

"He betrayed us. Killed Pen before my eyes. And sought to bring me into the Sith's fold."

Obi-Wan was taken aback by the information, but now wasn't the time to express his shock or seek specifics. He could see in the boy's tortured expression that he needed words Obi-Wan alone was equipped to offer.

"But you resisted," he pronounced proudly. "As only the strongest could. You are to be commended for that."

Brummel shook his head in disagreement, but didn't say anything. Instead, he looked down at Lacian, stroking the boy's hair with affection, or maybe gratitude.

Obi-Wan slipped his arm around Padme's waist, holding her against him.

They'd won. If a calamity like this could even _have_ a victor.

It would be a long walk home, an arduous journey out of this darkness. But they would rebuild. History would be written not by the hand of a dark-hearted chronicler, but by those who now knew the cost of men's vigilance.

* * *

Hope you liked it. We're heading down the home stretch (it's been a long time coming!). I've enjoyed visiting this project over time, and hope I can bring it to an end in a satisfying manner. Thanks for reading, and let me know how this chapter turned out.


	38. Even the Clothes on Your Body

**A/N:** The last chapter! Can you believe it? It's been a long journey from A to B, but I have surely enjoyed it. I hope that the extended chronological scope of this last chapter proves satisfying. I thought an extended view of the aftermath might provide a better conclusion than the more typical "right after the action stops" ending. I guess you shall be the judge!

For those who have been following along -- through alerts or just checking back periodically -- but have yet to offer feedback, I'd love to hear from you at the finish here. About the good, the bad, whatever you'd like! Just hit that button, my friends.

Thanks again to all who followed this story throughout the years it took to finish.

* * *

With the communications array destroyed, news of the victory was slow to spread at first, but all over Naboo, people discovered for themselves the vanquish of the clones, and over the course of two days, couriers in a smattering of ships which had survived the conflict made certain that everyone knew of Palpatine's defeat.

The various officers and conscripts who had been loyal to Palpatine were alternatively gunned down by vigilantes and housed in makeshift militia jails, until full order could be restored by the Republic.

During the next few weeks, medical and military aid did indeed flow in, the Palpatine loyalists arrested and eventually indicted on charges of treason. The dead – millions of them – were taken from where they lay, in streets and fields and oceans and rubble, and whenever possible, they were provided a proper burial at the Republic's expense.

The Galactic Senators, known more for their petty grudges and back-room dealings than their competence or patriotism, came together in a moment of unprecedented cooperation. Senator Parsons was installed as the Interim Chancellor and led the drive to write and pass a piece of legislation called 'The Naboo Reconstruction Act,' which pledged billions of credits in relief to the ravaged world, including medical aid, insurance for residents' destroyed homes and businesses, and contracts for rebuilding public infrastructure.

One week after the morning of victory, Padme was reunited with her family, which had – in a blessing she couldn't properly comprehend – survived the war completely intact. Her parents, her sister Sola, her nieces, and her brother-in-law had all made it through the tribulation. Their reunion had done wonders for Padme's spirit, which had been darkened in the days prior by her budding understanding of the scope of the war's devastation.

She, Obi-Wan, and Brummel spent most of their time defying healers' recommendations and assisting in the relief effort, handing out food and water and basic living supplies to those made homeless by the fighting. It did the trio a degree of good, for there was something mildly cathartic about helping people at such a basic, visceral level.

It was about three weeks into the reconstruction project when Obi-Wan stood on the balcony of one of the few unravaged buildings in Theed, looking out over a bustling street as construction droids cleared away some debris and senators were led through on a walking tour by a contractor.

The diminutive Yoda walked out to join him, looking out through the bars of the balcony rail.

"They say we're three hundred percent ahead of schedule," Obi-Wan said, glancing down at his green friend. "Some of the more optimistic projections have us finishing in six months."

Yoda grunted softly in doubt, but said nothing, leaning forward on his cane as he looked out. The taller Jedi frowned, sensing unease and turmoil within his teacher.

"Is there something concerning you, Master?"

With a deep sigh, Yoda slouched down uncharacteristically.

"Talked we have not about the new realities of the Jedi Order."

Obi-Wan nodded, his stomach tightening. It was strange that they hadn't addressed this yet. Logically, it should have been the first thing they discussed upon the old Master's arrival, but they'd both been unprepared, he supposed. He could scarcely even bring himself to discuss it now.

"No, we haven't."

"Totally unequipped, are we, to fulfill the Jedi's historic role in the Republic."

Obi-Wan rubbed his smooth face, thinking how strange it still was not to feel a beard there.

"I'm hopeful we'll witness a peace dividend out of this madness. If the Jedi aren't called upon to serve as combatants and military advisors, we can still fulfill our duties as diplomats. We'll simply have to be more discriminatory in which missions we choose to undertake, given the scarcity of our resources."

"Optimistic I believe you are being about our ability to function."

The younger man shook his head adamantly.

"Not _imprudently_ optimistic, Master. As I said, we'll have to take on only the most dire of diplomatic missions, but we can still be of great value. And all the while, we'll be training the younglings and accepting new conscripts."

Yoda's ears perked up at the last remark, and he replied with mild amusement, "New conscripts, you say? Taking applications, are you, Master Obi-Wan?"

This drew a smile from his companion.

"Surely you've come to the same conclusion as I have. We'll need to bolster our ranks by accepting adults for training, and by recalling those who were sent to the Agricultural Corps after their training as children."

"Sent to the AgriCorps, they were, because no one would take them as padawans. Unsuitable they were found to be."

Obi-Wan shrugged, looking back out at the street.

"Beggars can't be choosers, Master."

Yoda grunted softly.

"Hmm. Perhaps not," he said, his pointed ears twitching in that subtle, emotive way of his. After a time, which passed comfortably in companionable silence, he added, "Impressive is the orphan boy. Flow through him does the Force. Corrupted by anger he is not, despite the hardships he has endured."

"It was the will of the Force that brought me to him. I believe he'll be important to our reconstitution."

The short old man inclined his head noncommittally, an infuriatingly cryptic gesture that Obi-Wan had seen more times than he cared to recall. When he was a child, it was the ambiguous gesture which would linger when there was a judgment to be made about his behavior. When he was a padawan, it was the look Yoda had sported when Qui-Gon asserted that his student was ready to face the Trials. Obi-Wan was surprised to discover he disliked it just as much at twenty-seven as he had at twenty and at nine.

"Is there something more, Master?" he asked tentatively.

Yoda looked up solemnly, the wrinkles in his face betraying each one of his eight-hundred seventy years. There was a kind of sadness there that transcended space and time, one cobbled together through the centuries from a sundry spectrum of tragedies and realizations, only now crystallized in the wake of this new destruction.

Obi-Wan knew he wouldn't like what he was about to hear.

"Talk, we must, about Padawan Carde."

The younger man visibly tensed.

"What of him?"

"In great turmoil he is," Yoda intoned gravely. "Conflicted he is. Overcome with grief. And tainted by the Dark Side."

Obi-Wan shook his head vehemently and, to the elder's great surprise, appeared hard and defensive.

"I feel no taint within him. And his grief is earned and necessary. He's suffered the loss of the Order, the loss of one he loved, and the betrayal of the man who raised him."

"And is it not the loss of these attachments that leaves him vulnerable to the Dark Side? Hmm?"

Yoda had thought those words might squelch Obi-Wan's will to argue, but the young Master fired back undeterred.

"No, it is precisely his attachment – his love – that saved him," he asserted forcefully. "Just as it was mine which saved me. And I've no desire or need to apologize on either of our behalves. I know now love's true worth and how it differs from obsession and lust. It's a thing as pure as the Force itself, perhaps more so, and to deny it outright is as dangerous a practice as recklessly pursuing it. I feel and will accept no shame or censure for the love I feel for Padme, or for the gaping hole Anakin's absence leaves within my heart."

"Hmmph," Yoda grunted. "Defiance, from you, I do not need. Ill-advised is your relationship with Senator Amidala. Strife could it bring upon us."

Maybe it was just the mental and emotional fatigue, the lack of sleep or proper grieving, but in an outburst unbecoming of the moment, Obi-Wan laughed – a full, warm, hearty chuckle that was as much a surprise to him as it was to his mentor.

"Something amusing you find?"

The human offered a wry smile.

"Forgive me, Master, but 'strife' is rather an anemic word in my vocabulary now, given our present circumstance. I don't suppose we have anywhere to go but up from here, simply as a practical matter."

Yoda didn't respond with anything more than that neutral, familiar incline of his head. This time Obi-Wan wasn't irritated, though. This time, as he looked back out at the construction droids busying themselves about their difficult tasks, his smile lingered a while and he let out a long, heavy, tired sigh.

The next days and weeks were difficult on everyone. Padme put on a brave face for the public and her transmissions over the Holo-net brought comfort to her haggard constituents, who themselves showed grit and resiliency as they tried with immense difficulty to gather up the pieces of their desecrated lives.

Everyone worked hard, but Obi-Wan especially so. He'd be up and about before Padme or Brummel woke in the morning, and he'd still be conscious long after sleep had claimed them at night. He was affectionate with the senator, outwardly loving in a way he knew she needed. A hand on her back, rubbing circles maybe, his fingers interlaced with hers as the two of them moved about, or his arm possessively holding her against him in a way she craved and adored. Maybe it was her elation for his tender behavior that allowed her to dismiss for so long how exhausted he looked.

It was about two and a half months into the reconstruction effort when Padme finally acted.

Obi-Wan sat hunched over a data pad at a smooth metal table in the room they were sharing at a half-salvaged hotel. He rubbed clumsily at his bloodshot eyes with one hand, fiercely gripping the supply readout with the other. If he was honest with himself, he couldn't concentrate enough for his review of the information to be of any worth, but slumber seemed to him a detestable notion. Lurking in sleep were demons and wraiths and choices made, and the collective torment of all of those things nearly broke him each time he closed his eyes.

He jumped in his seat when he felt a pair of delicate hands resting on his shoulders. A quick turn of the head calmed his nerves, as he looked up into Padme's warm eyes, the senator smiling apologetically.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," she said, pausing with a playful arch of her eyebrow. "To be honest, I didn't think I _could_."

The Jedi was indeed embarrassed that he'd so lost track of his surroundings as to fail to notice she'd woken. He wiped any trace of the feeling from his face, though, replacing it with a measured smile.

"That's all right. I suppose I was just caught up in this."

He gestured to the data pad, expecting her to accept the explanation. But Padme had a knack for surprising him, and she didn't disappoint in this instance, grabbing the pad out of his hand and proceeding to skim its contents.

Obi-Wan sighed indulgently, bracing his elbow on the table and propping his head up on his fist. She was so wonderfully difficult.

"This doesn't look like anything you should be losing sleep over," Padme chided gently.

He offered her a pitiful attempt at a placating smile.

"Perhaps you're right. I won't be much longer then."

The senator rolled her eyes, as if insulted that he thought the reply would satisfy her. He seemed to realize his error, glancing away with an embarrassed frown which so endeared him to her that she couldn't resist reaching out and laying her soft hand on his cheek, turning his head back toward her so that she could lean down and press a soft kiss to his lips.

When she pulled back, he this time wore a genuine smile.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"For being so adorably bad at lying," she replied, reaching up to run her hand through his short crop of hair. "And for taking care of me since all of this began. If I didn't have you, I... I don't know what I'd do."

Her voice was thick with things he knew all too well. It was remarkable how strong she was of mind, body, and spirit; and yet there were moments when she seemed as fragile as beach glass. That made her more beautiful than she knew.

He smiled timidly.

"That's my job. I only wish I were better at it."

Padme sighed in exasperation. Was there no end to his self-recriminations? It was almost caricatural the way he punished himself for his every misstep, both real and perceived.

She curled her hand in his hair, beginning to massage his scalp with her fingernails. It had the desired effect. Within moments, his tenuous smile vanished, his facial muscles slackening in contentment as he shut his eyes. Padme smiled with satisfaction at how quickly he capitulated to her.

"It's time for bed, darling," she declared softly. "So come on and lie down, or I'll be cold all night."

To her mild surprise and total delight, he merely nodded, letting her coax him out of his chair and tug him toward the bed by his arm. And when they came to lay beside each other, he didn't resist in body or voice as she pulled him to her and cradled his head against her chest. In fact, all he did was let out an exhausted, melancholy sigh, his body going limp as he let his will crumble.

She stroked his hair with one hand, and his back with the other.

"That's it," she whispered to him. "You just rest. Don't worry about anything. I'll protect you from all of it."

He nodded against her flesh, as if he believed her, and she squeezed him tighter and said, "You're mine. Mine. Not anyone else's. All mine."

That night the darkness didn't come for him.

It was another two months after that before they finally returned to Coruscant.

Without manual labor and counseling the locals to save his mind from grief, Brummel became increasingly more reclusive and withdrawn. Obi-Wan let him be and convinced Padme to do the same, thinking that his friend needed space to grieve. The boy indeed had time to if that was truly to be his undertaking, for Yoda had declared the Order's business on hold while he spent several weeks in solitude, meditating on how best to proceed to preserve the Jedi's future.

Padme returned to the Senate, where she gave full testimony – over the course of eight five-hour sessions – about what she'd witnessed during what was now being described as 'The Great War of Naboo.' Then she went back to doing what she'd always done: fighting for the causes she believed in.

She was appalled to learn how narrow and inadequate the Senate's plan to care for veterans was. In fact, she came to find out that one out of every four homeless people on Coruscant had at one time or another worn the uniform of the Republic. In the week that followed her war testimony, she led an impassioned fight to reform the Veterans' Benefits Bill.

"How is it that in the most impressive union which this galaxy has ever known, we can't properly care for the men and women who've made it so?" Padme asked from her perch in the floating pod at the center of the Senate Rotunda. "The price we paid to win this war, and all which came before it, can be seen in the faces of grieving mothers and fathers and siblings and spouses. It can be seen in the eyes of the brave young soldiers who've come back from the breach changed and damaged, both physically and mentally.

"It's in the tears of children who've parted with innocence and understand now the galaxy's dangers, because Mom or Dad isn't coming home. I've _seen_ that grief. And I saw many, many die before my eyes on my own planet, or be maimed. These courageous few signed up to serve with no agenda but to keep safe the people and places they loved. They kept their promise to give sweat and blood for the Republic's cause. But we've not kept up _our _end. We've let them down. We've abandoned them when they need us most.

"I ask you: how is it that we can spend millions of credits building hyperspace routes to uninhabited planets, but let one – even _one – _of our veterans suffer when we've the means to ease their pain? It is past time that our commitment caught up to our rhetoric. I implore you with all that I am to pass this bill and do your duty to the ones who've done their duty to us."

Padme's bill passed the next day by a vote of 1,645 to 355.

As the next weeks wore on, she and Obi-Wan settled into a familiar routine. They had dinner with one another every night, taking turns preparing it, and they'd discuss the highs and lows of their days. Padme was ecstatic with the nonpartisan progress she was seeing in the Senate, while Obi-Wan was enjoying caring for the younglings. His frustration was evident also, though, at how long Yoda had isolated himself in his meditations, accepting no visitors and demanding no interruptions.

Obi-Wan was frustrated, too, that Brummel was no less a hermit now than he had been when they'd first returned to Coruscant. The elder Jedi would check on him every other day, but Brummel was unenthusiastic about seeing him, and would often bluntly dismiss him out of hand. It was clear that the boy was hurting, but his friend had yet to discover the way he might help him.

It was about six weeks after they'd arrived home from Naboo when Yoda finally emerged from his extended contemplation and summoned Obi-Wan to the Council Chambers, which felt heartbreakingly empty to them both.

The sun was just setting over the sprawling city when the human quietly came to stand beside the old Master.

"Communed with the Force, I have, in pondering the Jedi's future," Yoda said.

Obi-Wan cast a furtive glance down at his green friend, then looked back out the enormous window at the city he called home. It looked more foreboding than ever now, and beautiful. He didn't used to appreciate paradoxes like that. But war had taught him to.

"And what insights did it yield you?"

The diminutive Jedi rubbed his forehead with a clawed hand, leaning on his cane with the other.

"Clear, it is, that we must accept older children into the Order. Adults in exceptional cases perhaps. And screen, we must begin to, the AgriCorps for candidates for reinstatement."

"I agree completely," Obi-Wan replied, his relief evident. "They will be raw and their road will be difficult, but it will go a long way in buttressing our ranks."

"A great stress this will put on you. Oversee, I will, the education of the younglings, but multiple apprentices will you need to take. Responsibility will you need to take for the teenagers and adults."

"I am up to the task, Master."

Yoda's mouth curled up at one corner in a slight smirk.

"Doubt of that I did not have."

"What of Brummel?" Obi-Wan asked.

With a sharp sigh, Yoda placed one hand over the other on his cane, leaning all of his weight on it. Obi-Wan knew that posture well. It indicated a great conflict within the old Jedi. It was with apprehension that the human waited for him to speak.

"Uncertain, I am, of his will to serve the Order. Greatly troubled is his young mind. Haunted, is he, by a specter he chains his mind to."

Obi-Wan frowned deeply.

"Surely you're not suggesting that – "

"But clear was the Force's will," Yoda continued, ignoring his pupil's interruption. "Great plans does it have for the boy. A great Jedi does it purport he'll be."

Obi-Wan relaxed, managing a cautious smile.

"I'm happy to hear that."

"A strong bond you've developed to him, yes?"

"Yes, Master."

Yoda nodded thoughtfully, shifting his weight away from his cane and craning his neck to look up into his pupil's eyes.

"Fall on you, it does, to right his path, if he is to sit on the new Council."

"The new Council?" Obi-Wan replied incredulously.

"Hard of hearing, are you?" the old warrior teased. "Thought, I did, that _I _was the one who was nine hundred years old."

Obi-Wan smiled, letting out an irritated breath as he looked back at his friend.

"I assumed you'd preside over the Order by yourself, to be candid."

"By myself?" Yoda scoffed. "Have you learned no lessons from war, Master Obi-Wan? Too imperfect are beings for _one_ to possess ultimate power over all others. And your personal perspective I have great respect for. An honor will it be to serve the Force beside you."

Obi-Wan's small smile brightened and widened, so surprised and touched by the remark that it took effort to maintain his composure. He'd never conceived of hearing those words. But they meant something now that he had.

"Thank you, Master. I'd imagine it goes without saying that the feeling is mutual."

Yoda merely nodded, then looked backed out the window again, this time angling his body away from the younger man, a clear – if curt – signal of dismissal.

Obi-Wan complied with the silent command, striding slowly toward the door. He stopped halfway, though, and his expression soured as he recalled something.

Spinning around where he stood, he called out to his elder.

"There's something else, Master. Something which has been on my mind."

Yoda didn't bother turning back when he responded, "What vexes you, young one?"

"It's the Sith," Obi-Wan began, finding the name difficult to utter. "They traditionally exist in pairs – a Master and an apprentice. But..." He paused. "But we encountered just three. The Chancellor, the dark one, and... Master Saduj."

"Unaccounted for is the fourth."

"Yes. It would be prudent to remain vigilant."

Yoda nodded again, but said nothing more. Obi-Wan waited a moment, then finally left.

A few more days passed after that. Things pretty much stayed the same. Padme continued her tireless advocacy in the Senate and Obi-Wan spent time with the younglings, Lacian in particular, who'd taken a strong liking to the young couple and even had dinner with them one night. It wrenched Padme's heart to see how ecstatic the boy was, because it was clear that such joy had been rare in his life.

Brummel was no less of a solitudinarian during that time, and it was at the end of a long day, when Padme was asleep beside him, that Obi-Wan's patience finally wore too thin for slumber. He'd thought his friend needed space, but it was clear now that what he needed was something far different.

Obi-Wan strode through the dark halls of the Jedi Temple, alone but for the sad ballads sung by echoes of the dead. If he focused enough, he could single out Anakin's voice. And that comforted him. It really did.

He found Brummel sitting sullenly in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. The younger man sprang up from one of the fountain edges in surprise, looking so much like a cornered animal that Obi-Wan's chest tightened in empathy.

"Sit down, boy," he said quietly.

Brummel thankfully complied, lowering himself back down to the fountain's edge. Obi-Wan crossed the divide between them with soft, measured steps, then sat down beside him.

Neither of them spoke right away, the serene sputtering of water the only sound in the air.

Obi-Wan folded his hands in his lap and turned his head to face his friend, who was looking down at his boots.

"I've spoken with Master Yoda. He'd like it if you'd agree to serve on the new Council with us."

Brummel nodded, but didn't saying anything. He seemed rather underwhelmed by the offer.

"And Padme's been asking about you. She wants you to come by for dinner. Says she'll make whatever you like. She's a surprisingly good cook too."

"I haven't much wanted to see her," the boy conceded softly.

Obi-Wan frowned.

"Why's that?"

Brummel's hands shook a little in his lap, his long fingers clumsily pulling at a loose thread on his tunic.

"Because every time I look at her, it reminds me of Sabe."

The elder man nodded, feeling a weight on him. He thought maybe they were drowning and just neither of them knew it.

"I can't understand what you've lost," he said, "because I've never lost it. I won't sit here and tell you it'll get better, because I'm not sure if it will. I haven't come to tell you lies that'll stopgap your heart's hemorrhaging."

"Why did you come then?" his friend asked softly.

"Because I love you, boy. That's all. It's a simple thing."

Brummel leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the tops of his legs and hunching over. He looked a lot younger sitting like that than he really was.

"I told Padme once that something wonderful happens when we die," he said. "The truth is, though, death's the most terrible thing. Because it takes everyone in time. It doesn't even matter what you've done before it happens. Everyone's moment comes, and there's no degrees to it... just the same end for all of us."

"You're thinking about it the wrong way."

"What do you mean?"

Obi-Wan smiled gently.

"You're thinking about it as if there's an end to anything. But there's not. Nothing starts or finishes in the Force. Everything goes on forever."

Brummel shook his head almost imperceptibly, blinking back something crude.

"But she's dead," he whispered.

"No. No, not dead," Obi-Wan said. "Alive in something else. Everything around us is filled with the Force. Ourselves, others, the sky, the water. When someone leaves us, they just slip into the Force, and so by proxy they slip inside of everything else. Even the clothes on your body, boy."

Brummel lifted one of his forearms, looking at that loose thread again. The older man noticed.

"A lot of people are probably going to tell you to let her go," he said, "but don't you dare. You hold on to her for all that you're worth, because she'll always be there to lift you up."

The young padawan shut his eyes to stop something from spilling out. When he felt Obi-Wan's hand on his shoulder, though, he didn't flinch away. He let it sit there, warm and brotherly and full of the Force, and a little bit like salvation.

Two days after that night in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, the Jedi participated in their first public ceremony since the war's conclusion.

Obi-Wan was surprised that Yoda had agreed to the spectacle before them.

A massive crowd of onlookers – congregated at the steps of the Senate building – extended out in every direction, all the way out of sight. There must have been twenty or thirty thousand exuberant Republic citizens who came out for the event, and it was a remarkable sight to witness their biological heterogeneity. Species that wouldn't have given one another so much as a passing glance in days gone by stood shoulder to shoulder now, as if were a natural act. The sense of unity was palpable.

At the top of the Senate steps stood many of the heroes of the Great War of Naboo. There were infantrymen and pilots and generals, as well as civilians whose tales of courage were the things of epic verse. Padme and Obi-Wan couldn't help thinking, though, in the privacy of their own thoughts about the ones who didn't make it to stand there with them. She thought of Selsha and Goren, and he of Coloshi and Crinnin. Each had given his or her life for freedom's cause.

Front and center amongst these honored men were Chancellor Parsons, Yoda, Padme, Obi-Wan, Brummel, Lacian, and – just a bit behind them – the ambitious young senator, who wore the kind of smile people don't ever seem to notice, his eyes taking on the sun's color as it reflected into them.

Yoda stepped forward, Brummel at his side, and the green Jedi's voice rang out over the myriad of loud speakers positioned throughout the area.

"Here today, we are, to honor the service of those who fell in defense of ideals. Forgotten the sacrifices of millions cannot be and will not be. Among those, the brave Jedi, who in battle gave themselves to the Force."

The thunderous applause from the sprawling crowd drowned out the Master's voice for a time, so he waited until they'd quieted down to continue.

"Honor, we do, the actions of this man," he declared, gesturing toward Brummel, "and honor his commitment, we shall, to the future of the Jedi."

Brummel smiled uncomfortably, catching Obi-Wan's and Padme's teasing glances. He might have been annoyed, if he hadn't looked down to see their hands lovingly joined at their sides.

"Kneel now, Padawan Carde," Yoda commanded, unclipping his lightsaber from his belt.

The young pupil complied, facing the crowd. His elder stepped up behind him, igniting his lightsaber.

As Brummel looked out into the sea of unrecognizable faces, he realized that this was the least alone he'd ever been. His dear friends stood just behind him, his fellow veterans back and to the side, and out in front of him were tens of thousands of people who regarded him as something more than a hapless fool who'd become a hero by accident or circumstance. To them, he was a symbol for the things they believed in. It was a powerful realization, one he wished he could have shared with Sabe. He thought she would have been proud.

Yoda drew back his blade.

"Padawan Carde, by right of the Jedi Council and by the will of the Force, I decree thee –" He snapped his lightsaber forward, the green blade snipping Brummel's apprentice braid from his hair. "– Jedi Knight of the Republic."

Once more the crowd erupted into deafening cheers as the newly knighted Jedi rose, his braid forgotten by his feet.

Obi-Wan and Padme clapped along as they stepped past Parsons and Yoda to enthusiastically embrace their friend, who returned their hugs with a ferocity that surprised them both. Maybe he was just that happy, or maybe he was just trying so hard to not be sad. Neither the Master or his lover would ever know for sure.

Senator Parsons, never one to relinquish the spotlight for unreasonable stretches, strode confidently to the front to join them, congratulating Brummel with a firm handshake and a practiced smile.

Brummel accepted both politely before returning to Obi-Wan's and Padme's side. As he put his arm around the woman, his hand reaching past her to squeeze the shoulder of the man, confetti began to rain down from above as the crowd's frenzied cheers persisted.

The three dear friends looked out into the crowd with wide smiles, waving to their adoring public.

And as the two Jedi looked up into the perfect blue sky, each saw something that the other couldn't. Obi-Wan's eyes were blessed by the translucent images of Qui-Gon, Anakin, Cin, and Windu, side by side, each one smiling back at him. Brummel's vision was of Pen, laughing and grinning, and Sabe, staring back at him with that rarest kind of love.

Yoda stepped out from behind them, his voice once more reverberating through the loud speakers.

"Dark were the days which have passed us by, and much was lost by us all..."

Lacian slithered and squeezed his body between Obi-Wan's and Padme's. The senator laughed and smiled, pulling the boy back against her, her arms resting on his chest.

"But discovered, we have, that hope and light can endure even the greatest tribulation..."

Obi-Wan glanced at Brummel, his eyes beaming with pride. The Knight reached across Padme and grasped his friend's arm in brotherly affection.

"For hope is not naivety in the face of inevitability. That thing inside of us, hope is, which insists that no matter the odds, the righteous cause can defeat the evil one..."

In a brilliant display up above, a squadron of A-Wings soared through the sky, drawing Obi-Wan's and Padme's and Brummel's and Lacian's eyes up toward the Heavens.

"But the last battle this shall not be. We will remain vigilant. We will be steadfast. And we shall never fail..."

Padme laid her head on Obi-Wan's shoulder as Lacian clutched both her hands in his own.

"For this is the duty..."

Brummel closed his eyes, and as the engines of the A-Wings blared above, he could swear that he heard Sabe in that sound.

"Of the Jedi."

* * *

**Cue 'Star Wars' theme. Fade Into Black.**


End file.
